Doppelganger
by schizometriclanguage
Summary: With Sirius having fallen through the veil, Remus finds himself haunting Grimmauld Place in his replacement, but the perpetual gloom of the dwelling is disrupted with unfortunate run ins of the unexplainable. RemusxSirius angle.
1. Prelude

**_There's nothing like knowing that you're supposed to be somewhere_**

Remus tossed the note into the fireplace. He was exhausted by their presence; which was everywhere he turned. Wherever his sight fell, it seemed that he would find one. It was impossible to say when Sirius had begun writing them, and he hadn't noticed when he was there. However, whenever their origin took place, they never ceased to taunt and bully him now. They were underneath clothes, in books, tucked even behind portraits that he'd idly gone to straighten. They were driving him mad. He didn't appreciated messages from the dead, and these were suspiciously insistent.

He'd been in Grimmauld Place for several months now, haunting his own room and Sirius' and absently reading in the attic as he was sure Sirius himself had often done. These places belonged to him and no one would come to disturb him, save for Molly insisting that he come join her or the rest for meals or tea.

_There was only one place to look. It wasn't ever difficult to find Sirius in his old home. He haunted the same places each time he returned. This time he'd returned and become condemned however, and it was no surprise that despite his apathy towards the home eventually cultivated again into an intense hatred for all it's stairs, walls and windows._

He watched the fire curl the edges of the paper with embers. The words, though quickly taken, disappeared in sections. "othi" and "at y" were the first to go, making the message a phrase, then disjointed words, then abandoned letters. And then it was gone, the message taken away to small fragments of charred solids that drifted upwards and clambered along the brick. Its destruction didn't matter, burning them only kept it from others, but he wouldn't forget it, as he hadn't forgotten all the other scrawled musings. Each one held its sting, and this one was no different.

_Remus stepped into the attic, met by a dark glare that softened once it registered who it was. It didn't soften enough for him to be comfortable however. That look was becoming too common, and it became harsher every time he saw it directed at him._

The feelings of frustration and sympathy were easy to detect in others as they were directed to him. It intermingled in them as they struggled to understand his loss, and mediate between the urgency his job entitled and the isolation he kept himself and what they couldn't do to help. He knew that some thought he was selfish, and he found that easy to agree with that sentiment. It wasn't that he didn't try to contribute and engage however, but once he'd found himself incapable of performing even the simplest spells there wasn't much he could offer.

In the house he'd taken on an eerily similar role to that which Sirius had played, driving out infestations, keeping to the home and sorting through the many suspicious belongings the Blacks had accumulated. The only room that lay virtually untouched was Sirius'.

No one had gone in to remove his belongings, out of respect for Remus. It was understood that it was his undertaking. Slowly, the room filled boxes, papers (especially those damned notes) were cast off into rubbish bins and the bed straightened. Of course, the boxes were hastily unpacked again, the papers read over and the bed set again to disarray as he lay in it. Usually by reading the papers, or going through belongs. He tried not to do it to often, but a cycle had been established. It might not have been a healthy routine, but it did have a security in it.

_Remus held onto Sirius, glad to feel the warmth of their bodies together. It was the first desire they'd attended to when they had the chance. It was a simple desire and promised more, but for now though is was enough._

How aware the others were of how he was obstructing his path to moving on, he couldn't estimate. So far they hadn't intervened, resulting mixed feelings that he didn't feel worthy of. There was nothing they could do because there was nothing he'd let them do. Molly persisted, but was at a loss as to what to say to him. He appreciated her insistence on keeping a routine of attending meals, the most social gathering that took place underneath the roof of Grimmauld Place since Molly would glower at anyone mentioning the work of the Order. While it did play a part in preventing too much being said, she primarily did to secure some normality, a break from the hell they were trying to work through.

It was the best thing she could have given to any of them.

* * *

**_Silva Rerum  
- translated as "the forest of things", found under a rug._**

* * *

Each morning he'd wake up to the days light struggling to get through the window. A thin curtain that previously had been a deep crimson had faded into a pale maroon; this morning it sluggishly hid him from a overcast that promised rain.

The bed felt cold. The quilt that Molly had made was kicked halfway off. His sleep wear felt tangled around his body and whatever nightmare brought on the stranglehold of the fabric he was glad not to recall. Tonight was the full moon, and nightmares had been frequenting his sleep for several nights prior, as it often did. But those weren't important, not once he'd woken up. It was the other dream he had difficultly forgetting.

It happened more often then it should have, sometimes two, three times in the same night. It was the night at the ministry, how they'd first heard what was happening, the mad rush to get there, the last things they'd said to each other and how inconsequential and cold they came off in the single-mindedness of the rescue. That all moved forward in a blur, his dreams memory stopping only for moments at each place and then propelling him to the last moment where he was forced to recall in a dark vibrancy. In a cruel lack of vigour, that moment slowed nearly to a stop and dragged itself across the dreamscape like a slow blade to skin.

It happened the same each time, the exact replica of what he'd chosen to see in his mind's eye that night taking it▒s place. Most distinctive was the look in Sirius' eyes as his mind did what it had to do to cope as his body lost its balance. It was a blank startle that didn't know what had happened. The grey eyes looked at nothing, and no one, but drew into mans mind and went to far to reveal any last thought, good-bye, regret or promise. It was a look that went without fear, but the surprise and emptiness they conveyed played a role worse then fear could have done on its own.

Around the department, shadowed figures with no faces watched, and though he didn't see the faces each body's inaction was enough to prove their shock. There was a spell, there was something they could have done if they weren't so stunned, he was sure of it. He still couldn't fathom why he hadn't done better, been quicker. As Sirius fell through, his dream self tore the vision away and resumed it's hellish pace, grabbing Harry to keep him back and giving his voice to offer consolations of truths he didn't have the time to believe yet.

Then the dream would take its own shape and he was standing in front of the veil as though it were a mirror. Sirius was only just on the other side, but he couldn't move. He could see the outline of him on the other side, but the paralysis stopped any attempt to cross and the only feeling he felt was desperation. Then the world plummeted to black and he'd wake up, early night, early morning, disoriented and hollow.

He knew what the dream meant, it wasn't difficult to decipher, only difficult to accept. Believing the truth still wasn't first instinct.

Not wanting to dwell on it, Remus removed the blankets that obstructed his feet and undressed from the plain navy clothing that had tried to murder him in his sleep. If he weren't worried about Molly coming and doing as Molly does, he wouldn't have bothered with it. It only seemed polite to not risk bearing skin in an accidental encounter. Despite his despondency and strained dialogue, he adamantly held to manners and decency and it spoke volumes in the day's attire of familiar tattered robes. It proved that he was doing his best, and the sincerity of his effort was well received. Albeit, the deteriorating dignity of a set of shabby robes worked against him, but he'd long ago learned to work with what he had.

_"You shouldn't worry about it so much, Moony," Sirius said, linking his arm around his waist and Remus felt himself recoil without meaning too. They were still having trouble falling into the rhythm they'd established before Sirius had been taken, but it was coming slowly, something Sirius moved along by clasping his other arm around him firmly. Remus smiled at their reflection in the mirror._

_"Not everyone has such dismally low standards as you, Sirius._"

_"Fortunate for you, isn't it?"_

_"I just can't give them the excuse, especially once they find out I'm useless three out of every 30 days."_

_Sirius tipped his head into his shoulder and stayed there._

He moved down the stairs carefully, not wanting his still waking body to mislead him down the crooked, varying steps. With his usual quiet he went to the dining room where he was expected to frequent at least twice a day. Molly was no where to be seen, but she'd left out a vat of oatmeal that was already half finished. Helping himself he took a seat at the table and fingered through the Daily Prophet. The oatmeal burned on his tongue, scalding the roof of his mouth and there was nothing of interest in the paper.

The sounds of a wizarding home moved around him, but no one entered the kitchen. He heard dishes cleaning in the sink, and was overcome with the need to occupy his hands. The cloth gave little resistance as he took it under his own control. It was satisfying to plunge his hands into the lukewarm water, to get lost in the simple task. The control over the sounds of the room was relaxing, cleaning was the one helpful thing he'd been able to do all his life even when he couldn't get a job.

_"Good morning, Remus, m'dear," Sirius said, voice dripping into the room. He'd been using a domestic language that sounded strange from his lips in the morning that seemed to ebb away by the afternoon. Remus smiled, looking up from the cutlery he was washing and permitted himself a moment to enjoy this emerging habit._

_"Morning, Sirius."_

_A hand drifted across his shoulder lightly and lips kissed his neck softly as Sirius floated past in one smooth motion before seeking the tea leaves._

Once he'd finished and the dishes found their proper places, he got caught in the debilitating memories once again. The feeling of another's hands and breath on his skin almost felt like a reality where the water had gloved his hands and the heat caressed his face. The sensation faded as his body cooled and he found himself again left alone in the room, with sounds and thoughts beyond his control.

* * *

**_Calming the voices in my head would be easier if I couldn't hear everyone else's.  
- found in tobacco tin._**

* * *

Author: Want more? There's a link in my profile to livejournal where you'll find more. I prefer posting there first :). This here, will be updated once a week on Sundays. (plug shameless promotion here).


	2. Part One

The monster tore out of him in a way he'd never forgot but could only pinpoint by relieving the experience. The pain etched claws and the beasts coat drew itself out slowly in thousands of small blades. With the sudden unkind ravaging of rapidly elongating canines, his mind escaped in a blinded fever and the colours faded to a beast's range of sepia drenched sight.

* * *

The night had passed in violence; Molly was able to gather even before she'd gotten down the stairs. The destruction was visible even in the dark of the cellar and she felt winded even in her momentary survey of the bites and gashes that he'd unknowingly afflicted on his body.

"Remus! Remus, _what've you done?_ Tonks, come down here! Oh...the blood..." her voice began, sounding distant to her ears. To Remus, it became a wispy a sound, but was able to deduce from her movements that she was shouting. She tried to stop the bleeding, call for help, and cast the necessary spells in a rapid panic all at once. She kept her voice going, trying to keep him conscious.

"Remus, look at me," Molly said sternly, regaining her coherence again as she saw his light brown eyes becoming unfocused and rolling to the back of his head, "Tonks is going to take you up upstairs and -careful on the stairs!- and we'll fix you up. _Just stay awake_."

She exchanged a quick look with Tonks, who spared her only a moment before returning to her concentration to Remus. Molly watched her for a moment before running a quick search of the cellar, wondering how no one could have heard throughout the night. It was a heavy door, but it couldn't have been that thick and he'd been unable to perform magic since the middle of September...and there it was, a thin screen, shimmering; a simple sound proofing tool. Realizing that this wasn't by accident, Molly was suspended between vexation and worried misgivings. She moved around the room, instinctively cleaning the mess with absent flicks of her wand. Thrown across the floor, before or after she couldn't tell, was the thick evidence of the Wolfsbane potion, which should have been taken a week prior. Frowning, she gathered that too with a flick of her wand and hurried up the stairs to help Tonks tend to him. Finding his reasons, though she could guess them, would have to be saved for later.

* * *

**It's not as though we really know what we're looking for - found in a hidden compartment of the desk in the sitting room.**

* * *

Remus ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth, finding that his teeth still retained an unnatural point to them. The scents in the room assailed him and the light burned at his eyesight. Despite the rapid transformation that he moon promised each month, its reversal became an increasing long process. It wasn't uncommon, as the lycanthropy slowly drained a little bit more out of him each month.

Tonks was picking at her breakfast, casting worried glances every few moments. In the silence, it was glaringly obvious and she flushed each time he offered a mild smile to her. He'd thanked her earlier, but since their last conversation in the summer, she'd been incapable of speaking to him in sentences exceeding three or four words.

"Remus, we know that you purposely didn't take the potion."

Remus looked up across the table from his cup to Molly, who stared him down dangerously. Tonks set down her fork with a clang, muttering that she was done and began to clean up after herself. Remus immediately was at a loss of what to say, even though he'd been waiting for it since he'd woken. He wondered if he should mention that he'd made certain that he was secure, but it would have sounded weak and irrational. As he surveyed her quietly, her accusation settled as an intrusion and his loss of words quickly twisted into a vendetta in which he felt determined to withhold information and emotion. Inside his mouth he ran his tongue over his teeth again and imagined them shearing any explanation he might conjure.

"How can I take care of you without you even making an effort yourself?" Molly asked, her voice taking the likeness to lashes despite their well-meaning. He wanted to tell her that he didn't need taking care of, but given that he'd just been blissfully unconscious and bedridden for the last four days he was permitted no objection. Instead he calmly took a sip of his tea. Probably the wrong move, he thought as Molly's mouth drew into a thin line. However, his mood didn't allow him to be apologetic for his blooming apathy. He heard Tonks stumble in the hall and glanced away for a moment, but Molly's voice quickly commanded his attention back to her.

"Can you imagine if you'd gotten out? Or if someone opened the cellar door?"

"I know, Molly," Remus said, with an expression of disdain slipping through his facade. They all knew exactly what could have happened.

"So why did you do it!"

The shrillness of her voice made him cringe as his hearing was still beyond human constraint. Despite the forcefulness of her question, he still had no inclination to answer her. There was no reason to explain him self to her or in the very least he didn't want to see the reason yet. If she didn't already know, he wasn't much one for expounding the whole story.

"Molly, I don't think you really need to ask," he answered mildly.

"Well I haven't been getting any explanations from you, so I bloody well have to!"

Remus turned the smooth porcelain of the cup in his palm,

"Molly, I'm not a child."

"I know that Remus, I'm your friend, we all are, and I want to help you, and I can't put it any plainer then that. Please, if you'd just talk about it..." she trailed off hopefully. He marvelled at how little people knew of his and Sirius' relationship. Truthfully, he'd thought that Molly had known. He couldn't bear to explain it right now however and followed suit after Tonks, his feet aching to lead him away with mounting urgency.

"Remus, answer me!"

He turned to face her, still holding a restrictive admittance as to what his face conveyed. A faint smile took its usual place on his lips and his eyes softened.

"Molly, thank-you for your concern; I won't allow myself to take way to such a selfish disservice to you and everyone in this place. You deserve my gratitude, not the endangerment of your lives. I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare start! You've been avoiding talking to any of us since you've gotten here. We understand how it feels, losing one of your closest friends, we've all lost someone. I just can't understand why you won't let us help, any of-"

"Stop, Molly, please. I don't think that you understand. Sirius was my...I know that you didn't care much for him."

With every word he knew what he was doing, but there was a compelling liberation in saying them and it showed all over Molly's stricken expression. It struck him that Sirius probably had come to the same conclusion that led to his impersonal demeanour. He stayed a moment longer, conflicted with the realization of parallels. A true, even if short explanation was the least he could offer her, and Tonks too when he saw her next, but the very notion sent his voice into constraints. He placed his fingers on his temples, embarrassed by his behaviour.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. If he was correct in saying that Molly did not miss Sirius, it was only because she was thinking of the man who had become unbearable, reckless and quick to anger. He hadn't meant it to sound as it had, and knew that it was unfair to amplify her guilt from it to silence her, but since it meant not having to explain everything he let it pass.

A hand drifted on the exit in hesitation and he felt the blackened wood's grain against his fingers. Just as his last finger slipped away into air, Molly sighed.

"You shouted for him," Molly informed him quietly. He pretended not to hear her.

Without stopping, he walked quickly down the hall, seeking an exit from Grimmauld Place. He ghosted past the grimy portraits, the heavy drapery over the portrait of Sirius' mother, over the intricate patterns of the carpet and pulled on one of the overcoats hanging from the bone coat hanger. It was too large, the sleeves drawing over his hands too far and the fabric in excess over his diminished frame, but he didn't have the mind to search for his own.

Once on the streets, he found himself re-scripting what he would have really wanted to say to Molly even though it was too late. He was not impressed with his behaviour, nor impressed with how he'd been reduced to feeling as though he had regressed to Harry's age. And Harry was coping much better with much more.

By time he'd reached the town centre it was the lunch hour, and people were getting caught in the rush. As people bumped up against him and excuse-mes and apologies and more colourful language was exchanged, he was increasingly thankful he'd gotten caught in a sea of unfamiliar faces. He was simply another one of them, trying to get through. He hardly ever suffered a second glance which was an improvement from being in Grimmauld Place were even the portraits following eyes had begun to prickle the back of his neck as he pasted.

It was easy to allow be shunted onto the steps leading into the underground, moving aimlessly. As he dipped in the brisk breeze cut out, leaving only frigid air that dulled the senses moved by those you passed. With each person passing another, a tugging of air pulled at one another, but no one was interested in its offer.

Remus found himself weary, suddenly thinking how foolish it was of him to go out alone. Molly had done a magnificent job of patching him up, but fatigue still came quickly. Without out the Wolfsbane potion, the monster that had been sedated in his blood seemed to have emerged with a vengeance. He settled on a bench, and mentally retraced how he'd gotten here so that he could find his way back. He hadn't gotten too far. Looking out on the thinning crowd, he felt calm and ready again to face Grimmauld Place once again.

Contentedly, he watched as people pasted the bench waiting for trains. He was not alien to Muggle settings, but every time he entered them he knew it was only temporary and each time he remembered a little less then the last it seemed. There was a sight however that he could never recall even imagining among the people here though, but in the crowd he saw that figure mingling in the motley. He tensed, and watched numbly.

Suddenly invigorated, with hardly any thought, Remus tore past the strangers, moving them out of the way with no pardon. Though he gained ground quickly, it hardly seemed possible that the ghost he chased was true even only in vision. His heart pounded and each step lodged it further into his throat.

"Sirius!" he shouted hoarsely. This hardly seemed possible. He shouted again. Sirius stopped, but didn't look back, waiting for the train coming down the tunnel. The concrete was slick and his shoes slid along. If he'd been thinking more clearly, kept his reserve, he might have slowed down. That option didn't make sense at the moment, though it fleetingly crossed his mind. Before he was aware of it, he was sliding across and down the drop onto the tracks; with the train still coming.

"Remus!"

He grasped the hand offered tightly and instinctively shut his eyes as he lurched upwards, fully expecting that it wasn't going to be quick enough. However, he found himself sprawled on the concrete instead of slicking the rails with his body fluids and was immensely grateful for it. The train came to its usual abrupt stop and he felt the wind off it rustle his hair. He lifted his head from his arm that had bracing him, and looked aside to see hair of a blinding scarlet.

"What in Merlin's name were you doing?" Tonks asked incredulously, her cropped hair flicking outwards as she turned to him.

He didn't answer and instead abruptly stood, scanning the curious faces of the boarding passengers for Sirius. Not finding it he stood, completely deaf to the sound of the station. Tonks stood up beside him, face etched with confusion, and he could only look blankly at her, unable to surmise what had come over him.

The train pulled out as quickly as it had come, and he watched the passing windows, eyes darting from one face to the other. He'd seen him, he must have, it was him...the eyes, mouth, walk, he knew their owner. But there was no sign of him. He felt Tonks tug on the sleeve of the robe, and he followed, thoughts trying to sort out what he'd seen, but the facts started to disappear the moment they'd come into place. It wasn't long before he wondered if he'd lost some sense, and couldn't bring himself to tell Tonks what he'd seen. The last thing they needed was to think that he'd gone mad. Already unsure of what he'd seen, he kept his silence. It was too likely that he'd simply seen what he wanted out of unaddressed desperation.

"Remus, are you alright?" Tonks asked quietly. He looked back at her again, blankly. She was frowning, wondering what to make of this. He cast one more look after the train, now vanished in the dark of the tunnel. It wasn't possible, he concluded. However, it didn't change what he saw, and that along allowed hope, however false, to adhere itself to him.

"I'm fine. Someone was in trouble."

"We should go," she said, her voice sounding thin and strained. Her eyes were searching his face for a clue, though she never dared to look him straight in the eye. Remus nodded and they walked silently back to Grimmauld Place, Tonk's hair slowly fading from the shocking scarlet to the mousey shade of brown he'd inadvertently put it in, his mind trying to sort out what he saw and what he could have seen.

* * *

**The way these things start - found underneath the cutlery tray in the kitchen**

* * *

Author: Want more? If you check out my profile, you'll find a link to my livejournal where more of this story is posted. If you'd rather not use livejournal, this account on will be updated one a week on Sundays :).


	3. Part Two

**_Marginally, minimally_**

**_-plastered in the door frame_**

* * *

Tonks remained largely unconvinced by his moth-eaten tale after he relayed to her what she saw. He didn't say a honest word about what he was doing, but played it off as a simple accident. Not knowing how much she had seen didn't help, but she didn't acknowledge whether or not she heard his shouts. Regardless, he seemed to have stifled any questions of it. His etiquette protested guiltily as she left him with a sidelong glance of something he couldn't identify straight away, but the more he thought on it, the more it resembled fear.

In his mind, he ran through the usual categories of Dark Magic; inferi, golems, illusions, mind tricks. It fit in every category and led him nowhere. Asides from what he'd seen, there'd been no evidence of foul play or intent of misdirection, which contended with the idea of it being dark magic at all. And that was the greatest problem; he'd simply seen. There was no attack; no distinct path revealed that he should have followed, though nearly getting murdered by an oncoming train clearly wasn't one that should have been treading on in retrospect. He'd have been more thankful for Tonk's intervention if she hadn't been tailing him. Molly's concern was suffocating, be it approved by the Ministry and Dumbledore or not.

Unable to sit idly by and pass off the sighting as a mere coincidence, Remus went to the study where an extensive collection of books presiding to the topic of the dark arts were kept. They were texts he'd gone over before, and though they more often pertained to the execution of the dark arts then to the defence against them, the collection had been invaluable to the Order. He didn't expect to find anything of comfort or reason, given the nature of the books. As they'd been sorting through them, more then half had been moved elsewhere or destroyed to keep readers from a stay at St. Mungo's. Nonetheless, he selected several of the yellowed paged books and set himself at the desk, drawing his sweater closer to him in a vain attempt to counter the chill.

"_Lumos_," he muttered out of habit, illuminating the dim room, casting a sharp contrast on the shelves and candelabrum he'd ignored while stepping in. He'd already half opened a book when he'd realized what he'd done and looked at the light emitting from the tip of his wand numbly. The light didn't falter under his entrancement. Frowning, he pointed the wand at his left hand, "_Aduro Consisto_."

Letting out a short cry of pain, Lupin dropped his wand to alternately clutch his wrist. Instead of the harmless flame he preferred to use for illumination, an angry burn had begun to cover his hand as the failed spell flickered and died into claws of smoke reaching for the ceiling. He'd done that the first time he tried the spell non-verbally.

i"I'd try to fix it myself, but I'm afraid of tearing your skin off with it," Sirius muttered, turning over Remus' hand delicately in examination. He offered an apologetic smile at the wincing expression Remus took in place of verbally expressing his pain. Sirius thought that it might help if he shouted out a few choice words now and then.

"It shouldn't scar though. I'll go up to the hospital wing with you," he offered. Remus nodded appreciatively, still not trusting himself to open his mouth. He watched as Sirius lifted his wrist to his mouth and pressed his lips gently. It didn't make the burn any better, after the affectionate gesture he was less concerned about the pain./i

He tenderly presented the burn to Molly, who looked at him for a moment in much the same way she would look at Fred and George should they have come to her for remedy. Without a word she pulled out her wand and he felt the sensation of plunging his hand into a bin of ice cold water. He flexed his hand, and looked it over; she'd done marvellously.

"Thank-you, Molly, I'm afraid I can't trust my magic to mend it properly."

"You can do magic again?" She asked immediately, making a smooth transition from disapproval to interest.

"Well, I didn't put my hand in the fire, if that's why you're asking; marginally, minimally."

"No, of course not," she brushed her hand through the air as though cleansing it of the thought. He didn't blame her for expecting that he'd been leading a daily regime of pain to distract himself given his inappropriate action during the full moon. He hoped that she had swept away his phrase "marginally, minimally" as well, suddenly realizing that it was on one of the notes he'd found the night previous. He was haunting Grimmauld Place well enough without having words put in his mouth.

"Well, Dumbledore will be relieved. You can tell him at the next meeting, I think he'll be by next week," she gave him a look over, taking in his unimpressive pallor and gradually greying hair which had begun to creep past his shoulders, "hopefully you'll be well enough by then."

Remus nodded and retreated back to the study, unabashed my Molly's cold reception. It was a passing thing. What was a mark of concern was the task he knew Dumbledore had been waiting patiently for him to do. It set an unpleasant weight on him. The only thing he looked forward to was leaving Grimmauld Place and the maddening messages he'd begun to repeat.

* * *

**_I woke up and my feet were tired, so I assume that I've been walking all night. -_**

**_ wedged between a stack of old Daily Prophets and Quibbler Magazines._**

* * *

_The word desire originates from the name of the star Sirius. As the navigating star in the night, it's an adequate association with desire as you follow it to your chosen destination. When they were younger, James had goaded him on about the etymology of Sirius' name beyond that of the Dog Star for months after Remus had told him. His knowledge of the star had been the tell James had been looking for and at the time Remus regretted his assistance in the Astrology assignment. However, manners eventually forced him to thank James, as he and Sirius "found their destination". The way James had said it in a mockery of a sage's mystique still tugged at his lips to form a smile, however ghostly it had become as time passed. This same memory brought him a conclusion of what he'd seen. It was desire that allowed him to mistake a stranger for Sirius, a shadow in his memory._

_But he couldn't explain why he went to the tube station every day of the week, hoping to catch a glimpse of that man again. It wasn't Sirius, but he ached for the mistake to be relevant. It wasn't Sirius because it was impossible._

_Throughout the week, his absences had gone undetected as Molly went back and forth to the Burrow, leaving him unmonitored for long periods of time. He'd leave carefully, and return with just as much caution as to not incriminate the Order's Headquarters. Because of the difficulties in performing less complicated magic, he hadn't tried to Apparate. Splicing himself wasn't in the books, given that Dumbledore would need him as soon as possible to scout out the werewolves operations and evaluate the allegiances to Voldemort. That had left him only the one week to devote all his energies to conducting a unpromising search for the man he'd possibly mistaken as Sirius, and half the week had already gone without any result. But it was the possibility that made this bearable, and spurred on the hapless stake outs._

_His search was quickly escalating beyond desire, he realized as he prowled the tube station and surrounding area; it had become obsession. But in evaluation, obsession was more productive then depression had been and as long as it didn't come to madness, the only harm he saw was denial. He could live with that, and had for twelve years without revealing it to anyone. Secrets meant that you had more then a half-life and value._

_He'd seen no sign, and made no further mistakes in confusing anyone with Sirius. Meticulous in his observations, he was giving no room for the ideal to be compromised. There had been no one in that station who resembled him in the least with this guideline. Without the confusion, he felt more at ease with the search and made it easier to expect nothing but his own frenetic hunger in the aftermath when there was no revelation. There had been something about the man he'd seen before though, something that went beyond his vision. It was the sensation of perfect recognition, extending beyond though and reverberating along the skins memory as well. Like a preternatural sensitivity; a ghost sighting. Only he was certain that it was no ghost._

_The winter was beginning to give hints in the wind, although it was only mid-October. At Hogwarts, it would be about time for the Hallowe'en trip to Hogsmeade. His conscious tugged at him, and begged to know why he hadn't written to Harry. But where Sirius had excelled easily in taking up the role of a father without replacing James' absence, Remus had found every word and phrase that entered his mind deficient of comfort or guidance. Whatever it was that Sirius had so easily accessed for Harry was closed off to him._

_Remus pulled back his gloves to read the hands of his watch. It had fogged over, but it didn't matter; he knew it was time to leave. As he passed a bin, he tossed in his long empty cup of coffee and resigned himself to returning to Grimmauld Place. Each time he left it was hard to imagine entering that ghastly place, so devoid of life and even natural light as it was. It was likely the worst environment to have had Sirius live in, and Remus wondered why they hadn't tried to move him somewhere else. The only time those rooms had seen cheer was last Christmas, where even Remus had managed to freely enjoy the season and was charmed by Sirius's encouragement to do so. It felt as though that were the last time he'd truly seen the man he loved._

_"_Moo-ny_," Sirius curled his voice around his attention. Remus set down the book he'd been reading onto the desk, marking the page with a sheaf of parchment. It was easy to smile, easier then it had been in months. He lifted his eyes to Sirius, perusing the secret curves of his thin lips that led to lines that went to his grey eyes. Alit with mirth they seemed to have cast off their adaptive gloom, rendering the haughty handsomeness Remus always knew was there._

_"Wine, and Honeydukes finest chocolate," Sirius went on, sitting adjacent to Remus on the bed and setting down his procurements, "Which I should mention, wasn't easy to get a hold of given the season."_

_Remus grinned appreciatively, and conjured a pair of glasses for the both of them._

_"You've cut your hair," he said, gesturing, glass in hand to Sirius' hair now cut just above the shoulder. He looked much more kempt in his refreshed liveliness with his clothes masterfully co-ordinated in rich colours revived from the closet melancholy. Catching view of his own worn and patched clothing in the mirror, he felt a sense of misplacement even in the faded grandeur of the room. Perhaps it was that his clothing had only been humble even when at its best._

_"Yes, well, Molly's been wanting to have a go at it since she got here, thought I should do it before she tries to scalp me," Sirius answered nonchalantly. He sipped at his wine, and Remus pleasantly came to the realization of what Sirius was intending. As he heard a cacophony making its way past the room he glanced at Sirius; was this really the best time? Not missing a beat, Sirius pointed his wand to the door, "_Colloportus_."_

_It wasn't long before their teeth had been stained with wine, and the warm airy feeling had settled in their stomachs, and conversation fell off in agreeable silence. It'd gotten late quickly but time for once had become irrelevant despite any circumstance they could admit to. Remus wasn't sure where his fingers had stumbled first, but was soon enough drinking in the clouded taste of the inside of Sirius' mouth. Hungrily, his hands pulled off the evergreen and black striped coat from Sirius shoulders faintly wondering why there were so many layers to work through._

_As he uncovered skin he went over it carefully with his lips, discovering again the nape of his neck, then down to the collar bone, over his shoulder. He moved deliberately, drawing out moments in place of the missing months they'd spent more quickly with business and bitterness then romance. These were gestures and reactions that they'd been distanced from for to long, he wanted it to last as long as he could, before the chance faded again._

_Sirius drew him closely, pressing his hands on his back to bring him near. Remus was grateful; he'd always felt that Sirius would disappear underneath his hands, and was always overwhelmed with the sense of wanting. The kindness Sirius offered by staying whole for him was overwhelming. It was then, when convinced that he'd not be left alone that Remus would close his eyes and offer himself blindly over to Sirius._

* * *

_**Things you thought you forgot - in a tea cup.**_

* * *

Author: Asforementioned in previous chapters, you can access the rest of this story at livejournal through a link in my profile :).


	4. Part Three

**_Trying to know how to offer you more - back of the top drawer_**

* * *

_He shouldn't have been hopeful, but that gray colour had filled him completely despite his own warnings against it. It was a fool's errand, but at every turn he drew out the time as long as he could. The notes continued to surface from their layers, and obliterated time as he read them repeatedly. Their harm now cultivated his obsession._

_The interpretations he'd been making to match a reasonable account of what happened had ceased. There'd been too many, each unlikely and near impossible. They relied on to many conditions. After hundreds of rationalizations and platitudes, the resonation that they were all wrong stifled their breath before he could complete their construction. All the memories that he'd been sifting though impeded any further scrutiny. The only thing left was the waiting and it twisted at his insides with it's own impatience._

_The station had still not given anything more then it's usual pace, and his doubt raced against obsession. Being aware of the fanatical fashion he'd been engaging in somehow made it bearable._

_The week had led him to the last day of his hapless search. The station had given no signs of promise, and without help, there was no way to properly canvas the area. If indeed Sirius was alive, it would have been a wise thing to request assistance. But there was no proof, only a flimsy conviction he couldn't expect any to believe in. He didn't think his word would suffice, he didn't want to know what would happen if they didn't believe him._

_If there'd been more then a feeling that he was not mistaken, he might have consulted another member of the Order by now. Each day however, he was drawn into the mystery and it became more personal; it had gotten too personal, Moody would tell him. In the very least, he knew that he should talk to Dumbledore. What that invited however was the mans well-meaning but inanely frustrating evaluation of the situation. His mental health would be questioned with open honesty. Honesty he wasn't interested in hearing. It was in enough distaste for him to ensure that he held his thoughts closely, that and the feeling that he'd be surrendering Sirius over to death. Conceding to his death was satiated with more loss then he thought himself capable of comprehending._

_It was only time, he thought as he waited. Time had brought Sirius back before, in a sense. He'd waited for signs, waited for Sirius to plead his innocence to someone who would listen, listened for clues against his guilt. After the night Lily and James had died, he'd never fully accepted that Sirius was guilty despite the months of distrust between them. The moment he'd gotten the news, he knew that he'd been wrong to suspect Sirius of operating for Voldemort. There had to have been something, a threat, a manipulation, a spell; Sirius couldn't have been solely capable of murdering and betraying those he loved most._

_Sirius roughly opened the door, slamming it behind him with stumbling vehemence. His boots scuffed the floor and he stumbled through the small space, throwing off his jacket onto the floor for retrieval later. He didn't hear Remus shift in the high backed chair set in their scantily filled living room._

_Delicately punctuating the air, Remus cleared his throat once he'd ascended from his interrupted slumber. He heard Sirius pause for a moment, but say nothing and continue on his drunken clamour. It was hardly the greeting Remus had hoped for. But then, they'd hardly spoken for nearly a week and there was really nothing more he could expect._

_"Where were you?" Remus asked as he stood. For every night that Sirius had been gone, the prospect of asking had seemed impossible but it had been shockingly easy. The livid anger had made his voice seem thin, and he hoped that it didn't make him seem vulnerable. But if it did, it would have put Sirius off guard long enough to curse him, should his flared temper allow it._

_Sirius sneered at him, the dim lanterns light contorting every curve to a sinister caricature over his face. Remus wouldn't have to go near to know that his breathe would smell of booze or to inquire after the worst signs of his excursion._

_"Spying, are you?"_

_The following morning Remus had left without good-bye, his neatly kept belongings no longer there to juxtapose the sprawling disaster Sirius found himself in._

* * *

Remus shifted his feet, looked towards the exit, and mentally prepared to leave. This was done. But as he looked up, the hope of a clean severance dissipated. It was him, over on the stair, leaving the Underground. It was _him_. How had he slipped by? The recognition crashed down on him.

Before he'd made the first thought, he'd already made movements towards Sirius. His own footsteps echoed off the cement loudly, but jarred his ears by default. It was the same walk, profile, instinct, man; the same non-responsive spectre. Remus felt his voice being torn raw with each shout he made to gain Sirius' attention.

He gained ground quickly, propelled up the steps by the fever of the chase. The tension became more defined as he approached, as though the anticipation were repelling him. Remus heard in his mind questions quietly murmur over the sound of his heartbeat. Was there forgiveness, was there an excuse, what if something had gone wrong; was this a plan of Dumbledore's...what if it actually was Sirius?

Only a few steps behind now, Remus faltered. The distance was so small that all he had to do was reach out and lay a hand on him. But he'd stopped, that foreboding of being repelled allowing him to go no closer. It was him; no one else could have made their connection throb so violently.

"Sirius," Remus uttered. The name escaped as barely more then a sigh. His numb lips were incapable of bringing forth enough fight to move the name in its clearest points. Clumsily, he forced himself forward. The need to see Sirius' face was all he could think of, to look into his eyes. He was again entrapped in the moment however, and his pauper's steps could lead him no further. Sirius' steps faltered only moments after his own; Remus felt a shudder in his mind of his incapability to react.

As he turned, Remus saw the features that ran so prominently in Sirius' family drawn in confusion.

"Who are you?"

Remus felt as though he'd been struck through his heart.

"You don't remember?" his voice crept out weakly. Sirius only stared on, no sign of recognition whatsoever. It must be a ploy, he must have been ordered to do it. But Sirius would break the rules for him, he'd shown time and time again that the rules meant very little in the place of love and courage. Remus resisted succumbing to vertigo.

"What is..." Sirius uttered, looking overhead.

Sirius had turned away and took his pace quickly, stepping off the curb to cross the street. Remus began to follow immediately as though pulled behind by invisible tethers.

Unfortunately, he neglected to assess the street for cars and by instinct pulled out his wand at the ear tingling sound of screeching rubber.

He caught himself before shouting an incantation as the bumper of the vehicle came within inches of his knees. Hastily stowing his wand away into his jacket he gave a grimace of apology and moved to the other side of the street, only to realize that he'd lost sight of Sirius. Swearing loudly, he cast several desperate looks in each direction but he was already gone.

* * *

**_Things are rarely as graceful as we imagine them to be - in a folded pair of slacks_**

* * *

Sirius' voice kept repeating the words every time he tried to comprehend what had happened. The encounter had again taken a surreal garner. Being suddenly wrenched out of his gloom, time had moved too quickly for him to gather the details. What had he been wearing? Were there any visible markings? Simple things for identification that he'd been to stunned to gather. But it was him, there was no doubt.

He felt sick. His stomach turned, and his vision swam so he shut his eyes. The grief that had grown into him suddenly wanted out. It was strange that it'd gotten to be so much, seeing as the time it had taken to build had felt endless during experience. Its relentless onslaught had come as a shock to his body. Tears stung from the bridge of his nose and overflowed with no invitation.

It'd been so brief, but the tone of Sirius' voice rang clearly, and the expression on his face had been so sincere that there was no doubt of it's earnestness. Whoever Sirius had become, he didn't remember Remus, which was infinitely worse then him being dead.

Didn't remember him?

It hit him every time he took the time to form the thought in his mind. He wanted to sleep. The way things seemed faint and then solid only to drop off again disturbed his equilibrium. Whatever semblance of calm he'd retained had left him.

He didn't sleep, despite his best efforts, instead trying not to writhe at any thought pertaining to Sirius. But they assaulted him; his life had been built around Sirius. Their lives had been built around each other. There'd never been a day since they'd met that in some small or grand gesture he'd thought of him. Memories swam and drained into one another, more violently then they had throughout his months in Grimmauld Place.

* * *

_"What are you thinking of?_"

_Sirius shifted his elbows to face Remus, his grey eyes catching the half moon's light from outside the window; Remus had no curtains. The shadows hid his expression from him, but Sirius felt conscious that his was bared nakedly in the moonlight. He felt ashamed of the wasted look he'd finally properly glimpsed since he'd gotten to Remus'. But Remus showed no signs of recoil, instead waiting calmly for Sirius to answer. Sirius was glad that the dark hid the new scars that criss-crossed over the old ones on Remus' body. He couldn't ignore the idea that he could have prevented it._

_"Lily and James, you, Harry...he's so much like James," Sirius said quietly. His voice still sounded strange to his ears, having not been used for so long. He knew it'd been roughened as the rest of him had been in his confinement. It felt different in his throat, and while the fall and tumble of his pronunciations and communications was much the same, it all felt unfamiliar and roughly hewn; as though it didn't fit him._

_"He is...but he's also like Lily," Remus said thoughtfully._

_"They'd be proud."_

_Remus nodded, but did not smile. He lifted a hand up to Sirius face tentatively. He still wasn't used to having him back with him. Slowly dragging the back of his hand along Sirius' jaw line he settled his hand into the mussed black hair behind his neck for a moment. He hoped it was comforting, but it'd been so long that it only felt awkward. Sirius tipped his head inwards however, defiantly dispelling any distance that had grown between them. He sunk himself back down into the thin pillows, pulling the thick quilt from behind as he moved closer to Remus. He tried not to flinch as he felt fingers move along his waist, not wanting to think of how his ribs jutted out, of his caved chest or his thin spindly limbs. He felt too weak, his body completely unlike the one he'd forfeited the night he hunted down Peter._

_He didn't want to think of how different things would have been if Peter had been a stronger person. The anger swelled and he closed his eyes, waiting for the moment to pass._

_"I can't stop thinking, and I can't sleep," Sirius confessed simply, opening his eyes again, "I've missed too much. For twelve years, I've nothing to show but a bloody prison sentence. I haven't kept my promises to anyone, you included."_

_Remus didn't say anything, instead allowing Sirius to say what he needed. They both knew what had and hadn't happened, and that there wasn't any blame to be assigned for some things, even if it was felt; blame was duly dolled out to those who deserved it for what little good it did now._

_Remus wasn't sure how he'd imagined that their reunion would go, but was unprepared for the slow reliving of twelve years. He'd held his own life in a numb pause, and relearning how to live with love had made him relive how it felt not knowing what to say. There wasn't any book he could have read to help, and was instead left groping in the darkness to reconnect. For all the literature he'd gone through in his life, there was nothing to properly convey his apologies for things that could not be changed._

* * *

The barrage of memories twisted him in knots throughout the night, and he pleaded to shadows that the moon would make a swift cycle. The dismay at Sirius' amnesiac question wore him down worse then anything he could remember, standing as a block on any memory fair or foul; they weren't remembered, and it made them worthless.

* * *

**_the fatigue you learned is like a chronic burn.  
- photo box in the closet_**


	5. Part Four

_**Stop being cantankerous simply because it's expected of you - pasted underneath the desk**_

* * *

In the morning someone knocked at his door. He'd worn down himself into a dejected sprawl over his bed, hoping for interruption. Now that it had come, he wanted to shun it away.

Remus opened the door slightly, supporting his body against the door frame. His exhaustion curved his spine forwards into a deflated "C".

"Sorry, Remus, it's time for the meeting," Molly said hurriedly, checking behind her as though something were creeping behind her. It wasn't an entirely illegitimate fear. Remus frowned.

"What time is it?"

"Seven in the evening; Remus, please hurry, everyone's nearly here...are you alright? You look terrible."

"Thank-you. I'll be down in a moment."

Remus closed the door before Molly could get another word in. He couldn't recall sleep, but similar dreamscapes littered his memory, fogged. How many times had he seen Sirius fall through the veil? With the night withholding its restorative qualities, his eyes felt heavy and tired. Remus went to the wash basin by the dresser and tried to drench the sleep from his face. The water felt cool, but did little to refresh. Given the task of looking presentable, he was able to will himself down the stairs to the crowded kitchen.

Without giving consideration to his seating, he'd sat across from Tonks. Each time he looked up he knew that she'd looked away only moments before, asking Kingsley or Molly a question to hide her gaze. His heart stirred guiltily, but he kept his face impassive, watching everyone force themselves into the suddenly miniscule space. He watched Dumbledore as he waited patiently, quietly speaking with Arthur while perusing the table. Remus stiffened as the man's piercing blue eyes settled on him. He eased as the clear eyes softened, as they took in his gaunt pallor and defeated appearance.

His tiredness kept him unattached, noting what he needed and avoiding eye contact with Nymphodora. If it hadn't been in his innate nature to play a responsible role, he wouldn't have attended at all. He contributed his opinions as he was looked to, which was blessedly seldom. Heated arguments flew across the table to slag others in the face and were calmed by the low rumble of Kingsley's voice or a politely stern interjection from Dumbledore.

Among the reports Remus could feel the hate of having news move in an undercurrent in every sentence. But the worsening of every situation did not affect him as it used too. They'd become so commonplace, almost expected. It wasn't ever a surprise, but the dull horrors had an exhaustive mounting affect. It gave the sense of playing a game; weighing losses against gains, where the losses were lives. Remus stirred in his seat, allowing himself to get caught in the tumultuous emotion around him in hopes that he'd feel less mechanical. Soon, no feeling he had was completely his own as the volumes trembled, raised and fell from each view and sentiment. He tried to ignore the glaring absence of Sirius, which went over the scene in a translucent film. Its solidity faded as he occupied himself in argument. He felt himself flush, and pleasure swelled in his throat as the influenced character took him over and that image became less visible as his vocalizations ushered it away. He spoke coherently, commanding attention.

He was even able to gloss over the watchful presence of Tonks.

By time the kitchen had emptied it was nearly one. Exhausted, Remus set a kettle onto the stove, feeling the weight of the Headmasters gaze settle on him. With Grimmauld Place near empty again, began to feel the ominous pull of the dark corners and how they brought him to the lowest common denominator of himself. As he busied his hands, his eyes began to fail in the exhaustive parrying off of the image of Sirius, who had begun to take his usual opaque quality in his mind.

"Ah, I'll have a cup as well, if you don't mind, Remus," Dumbledore's silvery voice said from behind. Remus nodded and hummed his response, glad for the quick reminder in etiquette. He'd nearly overlooked the courtesy of asking. He pulled down another cup, the scent of mint permeating the air as the leaves infused into the water.

Dumbledore waited pleasantly, his hands folded gracefully folded atop the table, his wand hand covered lightly with the other. A vague feeling of curiosity came over Remus at the sight of the blackened hand, but he did not question the injuries origin. What ever the potency of the dark magic was likely to be equalled only by its secrecy. He poured the cup of tea with exclusive care under the extra scrutiny.

"Thank-you, Remus," Dumbledore said gratefully. He retracted the deadened looking hand to his side, out of sight. Remus could relate to the vanity of injury and resisted the reflex to pass his hand over the old scars that had marred his face. James had said they gave him a look of gallantry, but it didn't change his embarrassment about them. Their glare taunted him defiantly from the cup as he waited for Dumbledore to speak.

The notion of having been foolish had begun to swamp him as the man's silence made him question himself. His feeble story to Tonks came to mind. Remus was skilled at restricting information, but the construction of fables wasn't up his alley. That's where James and Sirius had specialized.

Dumbledore finally spoke, satisfied with the mixture of sugar and cream in his tea.

"You aren't well, Remus, are you certain you're ready?"

Remus cringed inwardly; the question was asked with such sincere affection that he wasn't sure how to respond to it. It was all Remus could do but expound the week's events to his former Headmaster. The betrayal of trust was difficult but possible for him; loyalty to silence involving his loved ones was enough to restrain him from railing off into the supernatural tale. With Dumbledore here, his suspicions quietened the idea that there'd been a plot keeping Sirius from him.

"It's better if I'm occupied," Remus said, hoping that he sounded unaffected. Dumbledore tipped his gaze over his half-moon glasses.

"Your vigour this evening brought Sirius to mind."

Remus didn't respond, but the blatant observation stung. He wasn't surprised by it, coming to see it himself as the affects of the meeting wore off. Hearing it said was another thing. Hearing Sirius' name used to gauge his condition of health felt like a low blow. He'd have used it too if it was in his hand.

"Are you certain you're ready?" Dumbledore repeated.

"It's better when I'm occupied."

Remus would leave Grimmauld Place the morning before the next full moon.

* * *

_**Time won't tell what will happen to you - under the mattress**_

* * *

_They hadn't lived in Grimmauld Place until it had become headquarters, instead living in the weathered cottage that Remus had managed to rent with the money from his year of teaching. They'd have continued to avoid it too, if it hadn't had been for the promise of safety and convenience. Remus didn't want to imagine anyone with influence discovering that he'd been harbouring a known fugitive, however wrongly accused. The word disaster came to mind and applied its effects to them both._

_The only rooms that were hospitable upon their arrival had been the ones of necessity; the toilet, the kitchen and a room to sleep in. Even the stairs and hall to each location remained in a dodgy state and were privy to assault from infestation or to the unattended dark magic that had been festering for the last decade or more. It wouldn't be properly safe to go through them for another week and a half prior to their occupation. Sirius had commented cynically that it sounded as though they were moving into a war zone, and given the state of the place it certainly stood as a strong contender for such status._

_As Remus walked in through the doorway with Sirius darting past his legs with the false eagerness he could easily accept in his dog form, he felt that he should leave immediately. It wasn't so bad where they'd been, asides from the inherent lack of clean water and furnishing. Setting perimeters and charms wasn't beyond their capability. But instead, before he could entertain the idea further he was interrupted from such action as Sirius' harsh voice ushered him in further._

_The next moment the atmosphere of entering a wake was broken as Remus bumped his suitcase loudly against the grimy papered wall. Sirius' mother erupted into turbulent litany of bigotry. Not expecting it, Remus had frozen in spot._

_Sirius however, took action immediately, contending with the volume of his mother's portrait with intense malevolence to match. Over a decade of hatred was released at the screaming portrait and the caricature it had rendered over Sirius' face frightened him. Coming to his senses, Remus swallowed the dry feeling in his mouth and rushed over to help shut the thick, moth-eaten brocade curtains._

_Sirius' hands clung onto the curtains, and his breathing was taken in ragged staggers. Clearing his throat he turned away from Remus without saying a word and took the suitcases up to their room. Remus recalled the fragile smile he'd given when he'd finally been alone with Sirius after the incident at the Shrieking Shack; the more time they were together, the more he understood why it felt like it was going to break so easily._

* * *

_**They're just the sort of a less strictly styled design - used as a book mark in a copy of "Karsch's Cleaning Mixtures and Bathroom Fixtures"**_

* * *

Becoming involved with the cult-like operations of grouped werewolves was easy. During the next moon, Remus would transform near a known pack and attempt to integrate himself with them through he usual communications of wolves. To approach them as a human was considered improper, given the core nature that united them. If he was accepted, he'd be considered a member of the lower ranks and would be expected to live among in whatever form of commune they had established. The pack Remus was to infiltrate was situated in Blackhall Forest, Scotland where this pack had purchased a manor. It almost seemed to hold an air of vacation. Remus however, was not misled.

But the matter hardly concerned him yet. Instead he'd gone straight to his desk the moment after Dumbledore had left and begun to write down every event he could recall from the past week. He wrote them in exact detail, with one exclusion; Sirius.

The realist in him lucidly rationalized that he could either spend the rest of his life being driven mad trying to comprehend what he'd seen or; accept that it was beyond his understanding and the healthiest motion would be to continue on where he'd left off before he'd seen Sirius. The latter option being the one that didn't require him to acknowledge that if it was Sirius and that Sirius didn't remember him was appealing. Dumbledore's earlier comment on the parallel he was living to Sirius had struck a unintended chord in encouraging hastiness and danger that allowed him to live out whatever fantasy he'd fallen into to a satisfactory end. Just so long as he made note of it.

Remus finished with his wrist numbed, and read over his neat script, which descended into an elongated scrawl as he'd gotten nearer to the end. While careful to omit what exactly had happened, he added in side notes to discourage himself of seeking out why he'd done it. The voice on the paper seemed self assured and confident. The promise of structure was comforting, and reminded him of his studies (and Marauder extras) at Hogwarts. There was the idea, the research, the planned method, the back-up, the preparation and safety measures, and then finally, the implementation. Perhaps he only had a few parts of the process selected and followed currently, but the words were good. He hoped that it was more then a pretentious smearing of ink on parchment.

Once he was satisfied that he'd edited out anything of Sirius' double, Remus slipped the hastily rolled parchment into his pocket. There was no risking someone coming across it. He'd written down everything from his neglect of the Wolfsbane potion to the excursions to the train station. The argumentative tones he and Molly had been exchanging filled 30 centimetres of point-noted scratch alone. He'd made point in the inclusions of the details to his and Tonk's interactions (or lack thereof) despite the knowledge that that too would have relieved his stress if he could forget it. It had to be done perfectly, the performance perfect. If the documentation was somehow divulged of his self fraudulence telling, the explanation would lead to question of his competence, or worse.

It was not a small matter, removing memories. Most wizards hadn't ever taken the commitment to heart and were incapable of following it through. It ran too many risks and the horror stories permeated the clandestine business. If it was done overzealously, whole months could be lost and beyond retrieval. It was a possibility that you could be addled in such a way as to become a permanent resident of St. Mungo's, as in the much reported case of Gilderoy Lockhart. The danger didn't change his decision.

In Gringotts, Remus took out enough gold to get the job done properly. He did his best to waive the knowledge that it was gold that Sirius himself had left him in his will. His common poverty only taunted him, jeering at his bitter uselessness and ignored capabilities. He'd never felt rightly for his dependence on Sirius, nor the kindness of anyone brash enough to show it in the face of what he was.

The transition between Diagon Alley and Knockturn was abrupt and if you'd stumbled upon it you'd ask why there'd been no warning. Remus hadn't been there often himself, but the desperation and secretive nature of the place was evident even through the thick fog that had a chokehold over the space. The underbelly of the wizarding world bared its teeth here. The decrepit, depraved and marginalized existed here, and with the right name you could find anything, be it from a petty thief, or the under-the-table services of Ministry officials; or worse.

It wouldn't be much to find the quiet service of a Ministry trained Obliviator.


	6. Part Five

_**It's good to realize that you weren't really getting away with anything - recorded into a journal, page one, line one**_

* * *

"You're awake. Good."

Remus opened his eyes delicately, the lighting, though dim, made his sight sting. Before he could focus enough on his surroundings, documents were thrust onto his chest and he felt a panic. He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten there. Carefully he fingered at the parchment, terrified that it was some sort of Ministry decree and a warrant for arrest.

It was his script. But he still felt his heart pounding, scrutinizing every curve of the letters and form of voice. It was his, but it was easy to think of a thousand other possibilities.

"What day do you last remember?"

Remus closed his eyes, the words on the creased parchment unable to penetrate the fog in his mind and throbbing vibrations resonating in his skull. He searched for a mind calendar, knowing that there were days missing that he couldn't account for.

"October, two days before the full moon," he responded, his throat feeling the friction of each word as he forced them out. He coughed in an attempt to clear things out properly.

"I went a few days over," the woman muttered. Remus coughed again, and this time had a glass of water forced to him, which slopped down his front unceremoniously. He set it down on the table beside him, wary of its contents.

"Well, read your bloody papers then, I can't with your swanky little enchantment," the woman hissed, sitting across from him on a chair. Remus frowned, feeling a crick in his neck from sleeping in the chair. Or maybe it was from passing out. Whatever had happened, the chair hadn't been designed for comfort.

_You've had your memory erased._

_Clearly,_ Remus thought coldly, raising a hand to meet his throbbing temples. It was a battle of will to pin the words down onto the paper. His fingers felt deathly cold and detached from the the rest of his body in their corpse-like numbness.

_You did it to preserve your character._

The writing seemed to snarl at him balefully in his mind, a snobbish mockery of his foolishness.

* * *

The woman who had obscured his memory left quickly, and he hadn't seen her face. Whoever she was, she'd done the job well and after looking at the number he'd written down on his collection of parchment it was fair to say that to expect anything less would have been robbery. It was not definite that he'd done this to himself intentionally but it didn't have the flavour of Ministry plot, though he didn't put it past them. A conspiracy theory hardly seemed worth the effort on their part, given that it was easier to draft a piece of anti-werewolf legislature and take him in on trumped up charges. In all, it emitted an air of his brand of madness, something he was certain was difficult to replicate seeing as he rarely put it up for display.

Whatever it was that had driven him to bring about the hazardous mortification of over a weeks worth of memory was personal and it was a strange position of amnesia to be in. To not be able to grasp a memory made his mind feel as though it'd be split into very distinct compartments and that there was no grace in between the transition of each. It felt like a list or a fact and the current attachment of emotion was nullified.

He'd quickly medicated himself so that words he was reading came through his mind in with some form of lucidity. It didn't seem unlike him, the way it was written. Instead what seemed incompatible was the progression of the week's story and he couldn't parry off the revulsion as to what he'd done. He'd neglected the Wolfsbane potion out of selfishness; he'd been impatient with Molly for her kindness, which as cumbersome as it could be did not merit his discourteous assault; he'd gone to the Muggle Underground and been rendered incapable of self-preservation for whatever reason. In his notes it specified that he'd gone out, that Tonks had followed and he that lied and said that he thought he saw someone in trouble. It was important to know that he'd lied to her, as not to deceive himself, but why had he lied? He wouldn't compromise the Order for selfish reasons, so he assumed that it was of no concern to them. It was only of concern to him.

No matter how many times he read over the paper, it unsettled him to search over his mind and render absolutely nothing of first-hand experience for the week. In compensation, he devoted himself completely to memorizing what he'd written, rightfully apprehensive of someone calling him on absent behaviour. Memory modification was employed in St. Mungo's and only under the most serious of circumstance. Whatever his reason had been, he wasn't fond of the parallel. Maybe he would have been more properly placed in St. Mungo's; maybe he'd still be better off there.

Completely preoccupied with his self study, Remus settled into a familiar calm he hadn't been able to find for ages. The words on the paper did not seem to pertain to his life; they belonged to a biography, not an autobiography. It was something that he could gather as knowledge and not experience, a mechanism that made it much easier to cope with. It was easier to act out the script he'd been given, each action begging for his inference instead of his emotion.

By time he'd ascertained that he had pinpointed the details, he'd tangled his hair into a hopeless mess and felt a disinterested ache in his stomach. He didn't know when he'd last eaten, given the trials of memory massacre. The modification had been worth it he decided, worth feeling more like himself then he had for ages; his bookish, cowardly, isolationist self with a outward countenance of complete calm. The absence of memory, though strange, was not something beyond his coping ability. It wasn't so different from some of his more ungoverned transformations where'd he'd be out for a full day, sometimes more. This was much more civil then that; he hadn't gone out in a bloodthirsty bestiality. It was more acceptable.

Unless, he had damaged someone during the last moon. The disinterested ache in his stomach suddenly contorted. How had be been so short-sighted? The time frame he'd requested for removal corresponded perfectly with the full moon. The dread filled him to every extremity. He wondered if he should ask if he'd harmed anyone. He must have. Neglecting the Wolfsbane potion was something he could never have imagined doing, but the admittance was in his own writing. But then, if that was what he was trying to forget, would he have written that he'd forgotten the Wolfsbane? That defied logic, but what was his state when he'd written it? He hoped his intelligence served him better then that.

His panicked confusion was interrupted by a knock at the door and he started violently, striking his hand against the underside of the desk. He hissed slowly, trying to shake it out before reaching the door. He opened it a sliver with his uninjured hand, the other hanging limply at his side. It was Tonks.

"Are you alright, Remus?" She asked, evidently hearing the startle.

"I've hit my hand," he said lamely.

"Oh, is it-"

"Yes, fine, thank-you."

The moment dragged on. He didn't know if he knew the pretext of the awkward quality of the moment but Tonks was behaving, to the best of his knowledge, no different then she had when he'd carefully refused her. Too old, too poor, and too dangerous; three simple points he'd concluded with, three simple points that she hadn't questioned further though every time he looked at her, he knew that she wanted to defy it. She cleared her throat and he wondered for a moment if that was her intention now.

"I've made potatoes and peas, if you'd like any...?"

Potatoes and peas; he couldn't resist the relief and smiled honestly, dipping his head behind the door for a moment to hide it. He didn't want to her to think him mocking her; it was only that he'd made similar simple offers thanks to an inability to follow written instruction to a tasteful result and a prudish distaste for handling meat. His smile was dispelled the moment he thought of what Tonks had just interrupted. He needed information, quickly. He couldn't believe himself, that if he hadn't hurt anyone, that he hadn't written it down. Whoever he was a week before had been brash and unpredictable. Much more like his friends and much less what they'd known him to be.

"Yes, please," he said, slipping on a pleasant smile. Tonks nodded, her eyes darting over his face briefly, trying her damnedest not to look him in the eye. He wished she'd stop. It made him feel as though she were in servitude, a maid, a position he didn't favour. It was clear that this distress was only because she was young and inexperienced. Not that he laid claim to experience himself in the respects of courtship. Knowing that she was brave, moral, intelligent, and all those aspects befitting an enduring character and that she was acting against those natures were what made his conscious twinge in a guilt that was not legitimate. Having the power to make someone feel secondary and exercising it without intention was not a power he relished.

He followed her down the stairs, his hand still smarting, aching more as he grabbed her arm to keep her from falling forwards after a stumble. It crossed his mind that he could have made an excuse to spare her the embarrassment of having him trail directly behind her. He knew what that felt like and did not envy the position he'd put her in. But, eagerness preoccupied him with the question of whether or not his memory was erased because he'd hurt someone. He liked to think that he'd been clever enough to realize that as he wrote it he realized that the matter of the timeline was a telling clue if he had harmed someone. But at the same time, he hadn't been clever enough to clarify whether or not he had.

* * *

_"What happened last night?" Remus asked, searching his friend's faces for an answer. Making contact was proving difficult._

_Closed off in the hospital ward, Sirius stood at the door checking for Madam Pomfey every other moment. Remus couldn't help but feel that he was trying to avoid looking at him, knowing that it wasn't like Sirius to be so overwrought in the face of felony. It was more customary that he simply threw precaution to Remus or Peter and ran full-on with a casual disregard and assurance that things would turn out._

_James cleared his throat, a calm composure settling over him as it did when they needed it._

_"You got away from us last night," he said simply. James without his usual verbose bravado was disconcerting._

_Peter and Sirius exchanged a quick glance, but James paid no notice, focusing completely on Remus who felt his finger flinch involuntarily at his side. He tried not to make assumptions, but the possibilities paraded in with their crude garb._

_"You didn't hurt anyone," James continued. Remus allowed himself relax a fraction, but was now puzzled at the seriousness of James' tone and why Peter was looking at James instead of him and how Sirius couldn't look at him at all._

_"You went to the graveyard outside of Hogsmeade and dug up a body."_

_A great sensation of repugnance welled up in him and he held back a retch, covering his mouth._

_"We didn't want to tell you, but we thought it was the right thing to do," Peter said hurriedly, earnestly looking directly to him. His face was a mix of horror and sympathy. Remus looked on for a moment till he tore away and turned away from his friends, vomiting the contents of his stomach over the side of the bed without control. He heard Sirius shout for Madam Pomfey, and felt the sudden lurch of his friends over him, hands on shoulders, neck, and side._

_Before his self derogatory though could come, he felt lips lightly brush the skin beside his eye and a quick whisper denouncing his guilt in his ear. Within moments his friends had been vacated from the room by Madam Pomfey, the bitter aftertaste of what having a friend afflicted with lycanthropy could really mean in their mouths._

* * *

"Thank-you, Tonks."

With a plate of food before him, Remus looked ravenous. He wasn't rude; it was simply that his thin body placed next to food seemed only to enhance his emaciation. It was a harrowing sight, just as the sight she'd seen when Sirius died. It was plain that he'd been affected deeply, but it was only when she saw him that it came about in full representation. When she was away it only existed as her memory could serve her, but every time she'd seen him over the last four months, it was obvious that he was exhausted, his sleep useless. She knew that he'd neglect meals unless someone forced him to eat, that he'd withdraw into his room without imposed routine or invitation for exit. It was obvious that he wasn't grieving for a friend, that much she realized and wished that'd she'd realized sooner. She couldn't bring herself to convince him that she loved him, that she could help him, not when she knew that.

Tonks sat across from him and pushed her food around her plate, taking bites here and there. She had put multitudes of pepper over everything, making a speckled mass of peas and potato, all worked together into a motley mound. It was a habit her father had commented on when she was younger, and because of that it proceeded to exist. She liked to think of her father.

The scrapes of cutlery on porcelain was excruciating in their service as background noise. She reached over the table and tuned the radio she'd taken from the drawing room. It was something familiar, a band she knew but couldn't place with Remus in such close space. The comfort of musical notes put her at some ease, and she was able to behave with more normality. She didn't notice Remus' study of her.

His observations of her were careful, delicate enough so that she wouldn't notice. She was pretty, her heart-shaped face lit when she smiled, glowed when she concentrated. Her movements were without grace, but endearing nonetheless. Each feature of her beauty was obvious, anyone could see that. Anyone would think him mad for turning her down as he did and it would be easy to convince his self that they were right. But because of Sirius, she would only feel like a replacement, a second choice and desperate choice. She was worth more then that.

"Tonks," Remus began quietly, "did anything happen, during the last full moon?"

Tonks looked up immediately at the sound of his voice, confused. For a moment she boldly searched his face. The question raised her suspicion the same way his baffling actions in the Muggle Underground had.

"You don't remember what Molly told you?"

A stinging smile went over his lips briefly, and he looked aside sardonically. That was truth. It made her flush, hoping that the impatience wasn't with her as she was sure it had been when she'd knocked on his door, but rather with the moon.

"It's vague. I didn't get out, did I?"

It wasn't something that he should have forgotten so easily. She frowned, looking again at him directly, deliberating the possibilities of how he could have forgotten. Given his poor care of himself it wasn't entirely impossible, but it didn't seem to be the case.

"No, you didn't. The door was too heavy; Molly had to use magic to open it."

He seemed relieved, and nodded, muttering a quick appreciation and prodding at his food. She wondered if he was fidgeting because of her or because he was in thought.

* * *

**_See past what's shown to you - recorded into a journal, page one, line fourteen_**


	7. Part Six

He'd finally cleaned out Sirius' room. Everything was now properly boxed away or disposed of, and separating the two had been surprisingly easy, automatic. They objectified no emotions he had towards Sirius. Possessions had never meant much to him, rather focusing on the ideas and enshrining the love he had for others in his mind and person. Belongings could be taken away; it was best not to get passionately attached to something as fragile as a token of love or remembrance. These things that he cleared away did not represent Sirius; they were only used by him and therefore could hold no true essence of what he valued Sirius for. Trifles, they had little affect on him.

There'd been scattered letters he'd felt too invasive to read, photographs pinned to the walls in a mad montage with red and gold banners underneath. He scoffed when he'd uncovered the torn out pages of Muggle skin magazines, glad that they'd been covered, amused that the motorcycle photos hadn't. There'd been small mementos too, an old quill Remus knew that Sirius had owned since they'd been in Hogwarts, faded out t-shirts of bands, Muggle and Wizard, that Remus could vaguely place sounds and lyrics too. In all, what Sirius had owned was minimal in terms of things that meant anything to him. They were already familiar, things that Remus had stored away after Sirius' arrest and imprisonment out of the smallest hopes that they may be needed again.

He wiped down every surface, though what was underneath hardly constituted as an improvement. It was still dark, the once rich colours interrupted only by the violent and more recent colours of Gryffindor. He frowned. It wasn't so recent anymore.

There had of course been the notes again, but he refused to read them, distinguishing them to having no meaning. They were now collected into another box, placed on the highest shelf of the closet with everything else. Maybe one day he'd find the heart to read them or the will to decipher them.

Grimmauld Place, for its entire drab complexion had ceased to assail him so vehemently. It was becoming another place that he'd lived in and less of a prison despite its grave connotations. He would miss the traffic going through the place, though it wasn't near enough for him to consider continuing his residence. There was nothing more he could do here for either himself of others.

It had been important to him to make peace with Molly before he left and it hadn't been difficult to come across her. Though she greeted him coldly when he first saw her since his he'd erased his memory, he thought it encouraging that she had returned to check on him again. The apology was difficult to find words attached to it, and maybe that was an element that Molly expected from apologies and was why she accepted it at all.

In a short matter of hours, Remus would be leaving Grimmauld Place; it was his last night there. Everything he owned was already neatly packed with a deft wave of his wand and his train ticket was set neatly on his desk. Whatever nervousness that he hadn't noticed earlier suddenly welled up in him. It was always the simplest of things that he worried about, like wondering whether or not his ticket had been purchased for the right day, or what he'd have to do if he slept in. Experience had always given a swift reminder that the simplest mistakes were the ones that you had to keep close note of to prevent. Just to be sure, he unpacked his trunk and made sure that everything was in its right place and all the tears mended in his clothes, the few photograph's he'd chosen to keep tucked away carefully in a secret compartment of the trunk.

Even as everything went back into its place, he still felt as though he'd forgotten something, something nagging him in the back of his mind, but considering how well the Obliviator had done her job, it was no wonder. He dressed for bed and didn't think on it further.

* * *

He left in a flurry in the morning, quickly making a cup of tea when he woke up and realizing that he'd forgotten to drink it as he went out the door to wait for the taxi. It would have been easier to send his luggage ahead and Apparate to the lodgings that had been secured for him, but Alastor had suggested that the best way to stay off any maps was to travel as a Muggle. Remus saw his point, also knowing that if there were Muggle werewolves in Blackhall Forest that an entrance employing magical means would not be appreciated should he be seen before the moon. They'd be on the look out for anything suspicious and to appear magically may not make quick friends, especially if there is some prejudice viewed towards it. For all they knew of the pack, the leaders may be Muggles.

At the station he waited patiently, feeling out of place with his shabby clothes and old fashioned, beaten luggage. He reached around his pockets looking for a book to disengage from the travellers. His fingers skimmed quickly over scraps of parchment, a bottle of ink, a short quill and a bar of chocolate that had been there since only Merlin knows when, until he finally extracted a small, worn paperback. He turned it over in his palm before reading it; it was a collection of stories by Washington Irving that he'd probably put there at the same time as the ancient chocolate. Before he could read past the first page however, the announcement came over the speakers in an echoed distortion announcing the train's departure. Replacing his book back into the pocket he gathered his luggage into his hands and boarded the train.

A modern thing, it was not sorted into compartments and the coach was crowded. He managed to find a pair of empty seats and settled in. Something about travelling made him weary from the moment he took his seat and he could already feel his minds guards succumbing to sleep. The hum of electricity quickly lulled him; the first hours of peaceful sleep he'd had in a very long time.

* * *

_"Mo-ony, what are you dreaming of? Is it that Sarah girl? Is she naked? Or is it-arg!"_

_Sirius had managed to place himself at the receiving end of a languid swat in the eye._

_"I don't even know who that Sarah girl is," Remus mumbled, his hand once again tucked into his folded arms and his head nestled into Sirius' wadded up cloak against the window._

_"Fine, it was the first name that came to mind is all. But don't go back to sleep, I'm dying of boredom."_

_"Then die."_

_"Such camaraderie."_

_Remus buried his head deeper into Sirius' cloak in response, his scent thickly permeating his senses for a moment until Sirius' lack of response made him think that something was about to go wrong if he didn't say anything. When he withdrew he was met with a raised eyebrow coupled with a frown._

_"Yes?"_

_"You're snogging my cloak, and you have a cold."_

_Remus grinned and dragged his face upwards the cloak, sniffing loudly. As Sirius leapt on him he thought that he might've done well to have kept an eye on him. The air escaped from his lungs as Sirius came crushing down on him. He didn't remember Sirius being bigger then him, and tried to make a plea as his attempts to push him off failed. Sirius only scoffed, his punishment not yet satisfactory for the defilement of his clothing. Moving to the next modus operandi Remus leaned over trying to claw himself out from underneath him. Laughing now, Sirius leaned over, pinning Remus even more firmly underneath him. The humour in suffocation wasn't visible to Remus at the moment as he managed to wrench an arm free to shove the dead weight off of him._

_"You two done?"_

_James was at the compartment door, looking annoyed and bedraggled._

_"Never," Sirius said, grinning up at James from the floor. In one fluid moment he'd stood up to face him, and though James had gotten taller then Sirius over the summer Sirius' influence was not diminished in the least. It did help that Evans was written all over James' face, a fact that Sirius would milk for all it's worth._

_For a while Remus was able to watch quietly as Sirius berated James about Evans before his eyes felt heavy with sleep. Once Sirius had gotten through James' woes and fumbles related to Lily, there was the gossip about Peter and the girl he was with several compartments over. The drama was filled out with their imitations and their brutally coloured criticisms. He'd learned to sleep amongst the ruckus Sirius and James so effortlessly erupted into, but as he spread Sirius' cloak over him as he lay across the seats he preferred to listen in a half-awake state, letting the comedy wash over him harmlessly. It wouldn't be long before they'd try to "wake" him to get ready for their arrival._

* * *

_"Remus."_

Remus slowly opened his eyes, forgetting where he was. He saw no one was there and once he'd regained composure he'd already forgotten why he'd woken up. Dreaming, maybe.

Looking around the room he quickly remembered where he was, the white walls and thin cream coloured curtains. A hotel, Aberdeenshire. There was snow outside, he knew, though the curtains weren't open. The light was being reflected off of it. Glancing across the room he saw that the clock read one in the afternoon. For the past few days it'd become a habit, but he couldn't resist. He hadn't had sleep of such quality in Grimmauld Place, and even if he was interrupted by nightmares or chill, where he woke up soothed the senses with its limited palette of off-whites and gentle earth tones.

For another half hour he watched the clock drag by, waiting for nothing. But tonight was the full moon. The last few days had been a much needed break from the wizarding world, but it was soon time that he became involved in the Order's affairs. He vaguely wondered if Alastor had booked the train tickets and hotel specifically for him as a gesture of sympathy. Whatever the circumstance, he was taking full advantage of it.

Finally he stood, met with a floor cold to his bare feet, and went to draw a bath. Even the hideous flower-patterned wallpaper brought further countenance to him when compared to the sombre tones of his previous lodging. He was already forgetting.

By evening, the snow outside had turned to a wet sludge and the sky had a shade of resignation that mirrored Remus' own as he brought himself within sights of the manor where the wolf pack was. Soaked to the bone, the bath he'd taken in the afternoon seemed ages away. But the sense of duty was distracting enough to keep him out among the trees as he waited for signs of others. He'd have to hide until they all transformed, and hope that they didn't have scouts posted in the trees for the night. Each pack differed, he knew, and the sense of danger and excitement began to build with the knowledge of those variables. Fear intermingled through however every time the idea of waking up the next morning came. He'd be without the Wolfsbane potion tonight, just as they would be.

It was dark out now and the rain covered his presence but it was at the cost of making his senses just as dulled as anyone else's. He was straining his hearing to pick up the sounds of anyone approaching, but only heard rain on leaves. By the sounds of it, it was only getting heavier too. The ground beneath his feet felt as though it were sliding in surrender to the elements and his fingers were numb and white knuckled from gripping onto the fallen tree in front of him.

While the environment by description seemed miserable, the cleanliness of the air and brisk scents of pine and earth gave him immunity to the less enchanting aspects of the venture. He shifted to get a better view, trusting that his fingers were indeed moving despite feeling as though they'd gone off and abandoned him. Straining his eyes he looked off into the dark foliage, but only saw the thick greens and browns. Nothing made or domesticated by a witch or wizard could be detected as of yet. He only hoped that once they could be that it wasn't too close to him. But it'd be soon, he knew, there was less then an hour till the moon held full sway over them. His heartbeat skipped a beat in anticipation.

Finally, he heard something and his body tensed as he tried to pin the direction. He heard some voices, bickering. That was in front of him, the next sound was from behind and he instinctively dropped himself into the space underneath the tree and earth, hoping that it was cover enough. If he were seen now, it could be disastrous, or it could be nothing. It was best to aim for the ideal that he and Dumbledore had decided on. He ignored the fact that he'd landed in a puddle that he would guess was at least ten centimetres deep, waiting as he heard footfalls make their wet impressions on the soft ground.

The steps stopped and he knew that they weren't far off. There was a sniffing sound, followed by a short whine. He relaxed slightly. There was no way it'd be able to smell him here, not with the weather conditions. They likely had the animals out with people to watch the pack during the moon and gather them up in the morning. He didn't envy their task. The dog was likely for protection.

He could hear them talking, but couldn't make out anything meaningful. He'd have to wait until morning, assuming things went as planned, which there was always a possibility that it wouldn't and no one would know for the scheduled three days before he checked in. It was important to keep a positive frame of mind, he heard himself insist firmly. He'd been in worst situations. Maybe.

Suddenly, the first cry of pain broke through the forest. Moments later he felt his own body writhe and try to claw out of the small space. Deep in his throat a growl started, drowning out the more human protests of pain. His head felt as though it were splitting under the pressure, and all the muscles in his body strained, contorted as they tried to find a way out of themselves. In the rage, he'd begun to stumble towards the others, and the last thing he saw was the great dark dog that'd been trying to search him out raise it's shackles and growl before turning to run from the monsters materializing before him.

Shaking itself to rid itself of the water on his coat, the newly arrived wolf raced down in excitement to present himself to the pack below in hopes of being accepted with creatures not unlike his self.


	8. Part Seven

He could hear them before he saw them, and once he could see them the image was less then welcoming, two wands directed at his chest in hostility. Naked and vulnerable, he wouldn't have moved even if he could.

"What should we do with him?"

There was a pause and Remus felt himself being considered. He shut his eyes, pleading with whoever's will he had to please.

"We accepted him didn't we? He's a part of the pack. Bring him back with us and get him cleaned up. It doesn't look like we'll get to talk to him for a while."

It was a woman's voice. She spoke with some harshness that seemed to signify her as the leader. Fact said that it wasn't uncommon among these packs that a woman would be leading. He tried to utter thanks as he felt himself being wrapped in a coarse blanket and lifted carefully, but didn't know if anyone had heard.

* * *

When he'd woken up the next evening, he'd found himself in a room of his own with thick warm blankets. He sat up, tugging at the bandaging on his arm. It was as well done, they must have a healer, he thought. Underneath it was already healed, and another scar was added to his inventory of injury. Otherwise however, he seemed to have faired better then usual. With the wolf pack, whatever had made him feral in his transformed state seemed to have been eliminated.

A clean set of clothes were set on a chair beside he bed. Like his own, they'd been mended in many places. He tugged them on, his fingers still feeling stiff and found them to be a fair fit. One sleeve was too long; a piece of bright scarlet fabric was sewn on the forearm in an attempt to repair what must have been a massive tear. The only thing that hadn't needed mending yet were the socks, which were thick and woollen, likely recently made by someone in the manor.

Despite what brought him here, Remus felt at ease and stepping out of the room hadn't raised any alarm. Looking down the hall, it was well lit and the portraits on the wall were still. It was electricity, which made him question just what sort of wolf pack this was. It wasn't of much matter, once a Muggle was bitten they became just as integrated as any wizard or squib in the culture of werewolves.

He found the staircase, wide and expansive, fanning out to the left near the bottom. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and while not glamorous, was like the rest of what he'd seen; clean and well-maintained.

"Good evening," a man greeted him, smiling mildly. He was older then him, though not by more then a decade, his dark hair cut respectably and graying in all the fashionable places. He walked with a cane, something that Remus thankfully did not have to do in frequency.

"Richard McInnis," he held out a hand which Remus shook politely. Remus hesitated before matching his gait with Richard's as the man continued on towards the double doors leading outside,

"I'm taking you to Miss Abbatia Ballymore. She's the alpha female of our pack to be put in wolf terms, but otherwise, she owns the manor and its grounds, runs the household and decides on its tenants. She's fair, level-headed and honestly believes that we all need each other. After what most of us have been through, I'm inclined to agree. Ballimore is not who you should be worried about with making nice with.

Remus nodded, stunned by the man's efficiency. Collecting himself, he realized that they'd gone out the front and not the back where McInnis was leading him now. McInnis stopped abruptly and glanced around quickly. Seeing that there was't anyone around, he grabbed Remus by the scuff of the neck, shoving him against the rough wall of the manor. Alarmed, Remus grabbed at the man's hand, but he paid no notice. On his face was something of anger, the smile that he'd offered in the manor only moments before completely absent from his face.

"It's Hati and Skoll who are the problem here, they're the "sons" of Fenrir," he went on, "Essentially, they're watch dogs, and I suggest you keep a close eye on them. All brawn, no brains, and I don't exaggerate; both of them are illiterate. Ballimore wouldn't have them here if the Death Eaters hadn't forced them upon us."

Remus nodded and McInnis stared him straight in the eye before letting go. There was something of fear there, but it quickly dissipated.

"I'm sorry. You just never know who is listening in there. This manor has barriers against your people's magic in most rooms, to keep the electricity working for the rest of us, but I'm sure that even those two idiots could figure a tape recorder or drop eves easily enough. I don't know whose side you're on in this damn war, but you deserve to know who's working for whom."

McInnis politely gestured ahead, and Remus wasn't sure how he felt about having the man behind him. He'd just run him against a wall after all.

"You a wizard?"

"Yes."

"Right, you'll be staying in the crypt then."

"Pardon me, the crypt?"

"It's not actually a crypt, or so Miss Ballymore claims. Feels like one, but apparently it was built during the Second World War. You can use all the magic you like in there; it's more hidden from the Muggles then the manor is."

McInnis tried to push open the door, but between the cane and the muscle weakness following the moon it took the pair of them to get the door open. They were immediately bombarded with similar scents of the wizarding world.

He walked down the steps, ignoring the claustrophobic ideas of being underground. A short way in there was a small open area consisting of mismatched furniture. Further, there were hundreds of ingredients for potion making all lined to the ceiling on one wall, the smell of owls and ink. He held back the nausea from his face and could see McInnis doing the same. Before he'd thought that the man was older then him, but had overlooked calculating the effects of lycanthropy on him. He was probably the same age as him and having the same problems with the after-effects of the moon as he did.

Remus waited politely for an invitation to speak as Abbatia looked him over. He knew what she was looking for; signs of sickness. It was not uncommon for a werewolf to join a pack near their death for fear of dying alone. Not all packs were sympathetic to this. Her gaze was careful and non-abrasive, not at all like the voice he'd heard the morning he'd woken up. She looked like a meek character, her hair a plain brown and her face without any major features of distinction. She'd tied her hair back, drawing attention to thickly framed glasses covering eyes of a watery gray colour. She was younger then him, though not by more then five years. Although her appearance was unimpressive, she held a certain calmness and command around her that signified her as a leader.

"What's you're name?" she said finally, her face showing no decision one way or the other towards him. She was intelligent, saving her final judgement once she had the appropriate information.

"Remus Lupin," he answered. McInnis looked as though he were about to faint from the smell. She hadn't asked him to leave; she trusted him, or wanted to give the illusion of trust.

"Where are you from?"

"London."

"Why should I let you live here?"

Remus composed himself for a moment, sorting out the best phrasing. He and Dumbledore had gone over back-story, but most of what he wanted to say was sincere. He didn't mean it out of bitterness, but there were things that others didn't understand that these people likely would, things about being a werewolf, about trying to make a living, trying not to isolate your loved ones, trying to find a place to settle, trying to cope with prejudices. Werewolves were not like other intelligent magical creatures such as vampires, centaurs or merpeople. At any other time around the full moon they were completely human and had human talents and needs. It was only during the moon did they lose the capacity to make judgements and human inferences. What he needed to tell them was things that they all collectively knew without having to explain further then in acknowledging it.

"Frankly, I need a place to live and I don't have the stamina to continue living on my own. I've spent my whole life living off the sympathy and care of others; others who I'm sure you know can't, and nor should they have to, understand. I haven't lived like this before, but if you'll have me, I'll contribute all I can. I've worked as a professor more recently, but it was...let out at the end of the year. For the better of the school, I left," Remus paused, his mind drawn off to Sirius and then the Department of Mysteries for a moment. He heard McInnis clear his throat, and Remus shook his head, looking back to Abbatia.

"No matter; I've been unable to procure a sufficient standard of living for the past year. I'm here now and if you'll have me, I'd love to stay."

She held his gaze for a moment, and he did his best to stay in it despite the smells nagging at his attention.

"You can stay," Abbatia said finally. She looked away and retreated back to a bookcase. She hadn't made a judgement on him still.

McInnis tugged at his sleeve childishly and pulled him out of the room into a short dark hall, taking a deep breath. He groaned and bent over the cane he'd been using, and for a moment Remus was worried that he was actually intending to vomit right there. Before he had time to react to such a threat however, McInnis drew himself back up, grinning weakly.

"I love that woman, but really, you're wizarding tendencies baffle my senses even when the moon isn't shitting around with me."

"Are you and her...?"

"Oh, God no, that'd be like kissing your sister; your younger, somehow frightening, compulsively orderly, sister. Have you got your belongings in the town?"

* * *

_"Sirius, where are we going?"_

_"Quiet."_

_Remus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but it had little effect, being dark out. He was shivering against the night air, Sirius forgetting to mention that they were going outside. It smelled of winter._

_"Okay, go!"_

_Though he felt himself lurching forward in usual unison with Sirius, his apprehension mounted and something severely contradictory to his position as a Prefect was about to happen. To his dismay, that knowledge wasn't enough to stop him. He knew that he was weak around Sirius._

_"Sirius, where on earth are we going?"_

_"To see some trees."_

_Clearly, he'd gone mad. As they plunged into the Forbidden Forest, he groaned. He was never afraid of the forest, but he'd hoped that by some chance they'd stop before entering it._

_Sirius led him into a clearing and stopped in the center. He said nothing, instead looking into the trees and muttering something under his breath. The moonlight from the crescent moon filtered through the trees, and it all looked like something from a painting, though less regal in that you could see the mismatched co-ordination of Sirius' pale blue pyjamas, cloak and heavy military styled boots. Nonetheless, here and there Remus could see the light make crisp lines on Sirius' face and in the folds of his cloak._

_"They're all around us," he finally offered, grinning. Remus squinted into the trees, seeing nothing. He shut his eyes, he listened carefully. He could hear something, but couldn't be sure if it wasn't anything more then the rustling of tree leaves. His eyes snapped open in reaction to a tremendous cracking noise and saw Sirius standing with his wand raised up into the sky._

_"What are you doing?" Remus hissed, feeling his heart creeping back down into its proper position from his throat. Before Sirius could answer however, the trees erupted into a deep colour of scarlet and agitated noises of small creatures could be heard._

_"Clabberts," Sirius declared proudly, his eyes following the flashing scarlet as they moved around them. It was enchanting._

_"They're incredible," Remus said honestly, completely taken by the display. The small frog-like creatures swung easily between the branches, making it seem as though the forest itself were wavering in front of their eyes. Thousands, he could catch glimpses of their razor toothed grins as the pustules on their heads illuminated the others._

_Sirius sat down on a contorted trunk._

_"I thought you'd like it," he said easily, glancing quickly at Remus, confirming his approval. Remus joined him, the chill in the air combative with the warmth he felt from Sirius as the dark was punctuated in scarlet and moonlit blue around them._

* * *

McInnis drove them through the lightly dusted roads in a behemoth of a station wagon down to the town, the monster felt as though at every turn it was going to slid given the speed that they was driving at. At least it wasn't bewitched like Sirius' motorcycle had been. His reflexes were in a state of hyper-vigilance, clutching the sides of the seat and dashboard intermittently at every mad turn. He'd only been conned onto Sirius' motorcycle once, and as watched on down the road in horror he tried to compare how much worse that had been to this. He was failing. McInnis of course was completely nonchalant, chatting and flicking his attention on and off the road, either completely oblivious to the obvious state of agitation Remus was currently experiencing or simply not concerned with it.

"Lupin..._les lupines_...You're French?" He asked, studying Remus' face as though something distinctly French would give him away. He hoped that his eyes were pleading for him to pay attention the road and that it'd work.

"Not really. My family moved to Britain after I'd been bitten. It's very dangerous to be a werewolf in France," he said blandly, trying to stop clamping his teeth down as he spoke. Please, eyes, road. If his death was to be of a motorized vehicle nature, it'd be a bit anti-climatic to the purpose of his assignment. iAnd then, Remus John Lupin, in his last moments, wondered how after years of living in fear and avoidance of motorized muggle machines he'd met the same death as countless others in statistics unknown,_ in a vehicular accident off a road in Scotland of questionable quality and in poor weather conditions_. He couldn't help but narrate it in his head.

Richard learned back into his chair, mulling it over and falling out of the conversation as though he were sorting things over in his mind. Thankfully he was now at least looking in the direction of the front window.

"Mm. They've had a lot of problems with the werewolf population for hundreds of years over there..."

Remus was unsure of how to respond. The impression he was receiving was that the conversations of their shared condition in the manor was all to be casually approached. It was normalized there, something he was unused to. Whenever he'd talked with other wizards, even Sirius, there'd been tactless points of making politically correct statements as not to offend him. He'd rather they'd simply said it, but could hold no fault to them. His parents too, had been too pained to talk of it at all except with dried sterility and strained comforts. Holding fault to them was impossible too. The only person who'd ever talked to him in frankness about it was Dumbledore, and even then, the man's idealism had shone through so strongly that it only drew the shadows of pragmatism longer. It was no ones fault. If he'd learned one thing, it was that blaming anyone for his condition was useless.


	9. Part Eight

Remus would have been glad to retrieve his belongings and then return to the manor in a prompt manner, but McInnis insisted that they make a quick stop in the local pub. There wasn't any drinking allowed at the manor, as Abbatia simply didn't want to deal with the mess it caused so easily. Persistent, McInnis ordered them both a drink though after seeing that Remus had hardly touched his he took it upon himself to finish it off for the both of them. All Remus could think of was the roads again, and he made several attempts to deter the man, but to no avail. On the brighter side of things however, it would appear that he wasn't inebriated.

McInnis appeared to be a local favourite, drawing friendly attention of nearly everyone who passed through. This made for lonely sitting for Remus, but he wasn't bothered, content to watch on. However, McInnis soon pulled him closer muttering an apology about being poor company and introduced him to the barman.

"This here," McInnis began, thumping him on the back, "Is Remus Lupin, Henry."

The elderly man peered over his thick glasses and smiled benignly.

"Evening. Unique name," Henry paused, looking off behind them, causing both him and McInnis to check to see if someone had come in. As they turned back, he'd begun again.

"Someone had been looking for you a while back, they were. I hadn't the faintest idea who you were, so I sends him off."

"Someone was looking for me?" Remus asked, keeping his voice clear despite new pangs of agitation. He was already trying to sort out who could have come within the past few days but no names or faces were conjured.

"Yeah, asked you about it, I did," Henry said, indicating McInnis with a worn hand, "ages ago."

Now Remus wore his confusion openly. No one knew that he was coming here. No one. And if someone did, it was definitely cause for inquiry and depending on just how long ages ago was it was some cause for mystery as they hadn't made plans for Remus to come here specifically till a month prior. He looked to McInnis whose face strained to remember.

"Nope, 'fraid I don't recall Henry."

It was beginning to feel like some sort of game and Remus eyed them both suspiciously.

"Did he say who he was?" he pressed on sternly.

"Ehm, had a strange name too he did..." Henry drifted off again, looking into an abyss just beyond Remus and McInnis. Strange names from a wizard's world into a Muggles world had endless possibilities.

"Black!" He shouted triumphantly, "His name was Sirius Black."

Remus guessed that he'd gone very pale at the sound of such a name.

* * *

They'd returned to the manor shortly after, McInnis noticing Remus' sudden plummet of demeanour. Who would pull such a distasteful prank? _How_ would they? He'd played quick fire with the bartender, asking what they looked like, if they'd left a message, exactly how long it had been, but the old man couldn't remember a thing. He did his best to keep it casual, pretending that he couldn't remember who Sirius was. Internally he cursed the lack of information, but he didn't hold anything against the geriatric barman. It still smarted though, and infuriated him more that he couldn't go off on a crusade to see who was behind it.

Restless, Remus stood and looked around the cramped sleeping quarters he'd been assigned. The walls were incomplete looking, and he felt rather like he was in a storage cupboard. Beams of timber were uncovered and stuck out of dull cream-coloured boarding. Of course, being underground, there was no window. The bed was a single, and a dressing stand was crammed next to it with a mirror that much to his disdain spoke and being such a crowded space it commented on you each time you came in view which was painfully unavoidable. A shelf was propped above the headboard and a lantern hung from the ceiling. They were perfectly hidden from the Muggles. His room was sided by two others and three across from those. That'd make six witches and wizards.

"Looking a bit peaky there, why don't you go to the kitchen? I've been told that the cook here is very deft in her handling of foodstuffs," the mirror said cheerily. Remus frowned and nodded, glad to take the mirrors' advice and leave the claustrophobic feeling in the room on its own. He ducked his head to avoid the low frame and locked the door behind him.

Sirius Black, was it? Rubbish. But rubbish to be concerned over nonetheless. Just hearing his name out loud said so casually had jolted him. Hearing his name at all was strange enough to his ears, seeing how seldom people said it, especially to him. It'd taken on a stigma in the way that the names of the dead did. It still felt wrong to say 'James' or 'Lily' and that'd been sixteen years. Whoever had brought his name around as such today was going for a cheap scare, which admittedly, worked for a short time.

That denomination didn't quite cut it and he would definitely be bringing it about when he next saw someone from the Order. The simplest explanation is usually the right one, he reminded himself. Someone knew he was here and now they had to find if they were a threat or not. Simple. He shivered as the cold air hit him.

It still felt as though some had struck him though and hit the hollow spot he'd been ignoring since he'd left Grimmauld Place. Thinking about it made his stomach hatch all matter of winged insects. He wasn't in control, which only feed the sensation further. Pushing open the heavy door to the manor, he focused instead on learning the layout of the place and kept in mind to find the kitchen. He hadn't eaten since he'd woken up and could feel the faintness extend from his head to limbs.

As he explored the ground floor, could hear someone coming up from behind him and turned to greet them. Instead of stopping however, the man shoved past, and Remus could feel the curve of his back tense and slam into the wall for the second time that day. He didn't look behind him, as though he wasn't aware of what he'd just done.

"Excuse me," Remus muttered, knowing better then to cause a ruckus.

"That's Skoll," a woman said darkly, stepping towards him, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank-you," he said watching after the behemoth of a man a moment longer before turning to the woman beside him.

"Violet Appolymi," she introduced herself, extending her hand.

"Remus Lupin," he said politely.

"You're the new one, aren't you?" She asked. She quickly scrutinized him, and he thought for a moment how dizzying it was to have so many people pass judgements on you in a day. It felt like Hogwarts all over again.

⌠It's about dinner, you hungry?"

He nodded and she began to lead the way. She was of average height, and somehow her long hair made her seem smaller. Black and unkempt, she let it run wild down her back. Her robes were of a deep navy colour, with intricate designs adorning the hems of her sleeves. On her throat was a gold clasp with inset rubies. It was clear that she came from a life of affluence. Being so young however, he couldn't see that it was generated on her own and had to wonder if she'd recently been bitten.

As they entered the dining hall, Remus could already see that nearly a dozen people were already seated between two long tables.

"You're late," a woman said mildly as she looked up from a pair of children who were arguing over who'd gotten more sweet potatoes.

"Thank-you Juliana, you aren't my mum," Violet said sarcastically, taking a seat next to the children. She gestured for Remus to join her.

"These little monsters are Rose and David," she said, a cast of warmth coming over her face. She ruffled the boy's hair and let them back at their food.

"Are they...?" Remus asked tentatively.

"Yes. It was one of Fenrir's wolves."

Her smile had faltered, but began to take on a more expressive lustre as she the woman named Juliana served her a steaming plate. Remus gratefully accepted his as well, but kept his eyes on the children. They weren't any different from other children at first glance, and he wondered if he'd behaved in similar commonplace naivety. He couldn't think of any reason why he wouldn't, but somehow spending a majority of his life as an adult seemed to have obscured the details.

"So what brings you here, Remus- you don't mind if call you that, it's not too personal or anything is it?" Violet asked once she'd cleared her plate. Remus glanced at his own plate and was alarmed at how quickly Violet had cleared hers. While at first she'd seemed almost sullen, she'd now lit up like a flare in the night and her speech had moved into a more supersonic arena in it's speed.

"No, that's fine. I just don't want to live alone and the Ministry has me worried."

"Mm, yeah they're getting dodgy. I hear that they want to mark us off, which is a tad too much like the Star of David a la Nazi Germany for me. It's that toad woman...Umbridge. My parents are in nice and tight with her. They don't even know what I am yet actually. They probably think I got mad at them for not buying me a new set of dress robes for the school formal."

"Oh?" Remus couldn't think of what to say. She just seemed to be talking without thinking, but nothing she said shocked herself out of it.

"Yeah. That was what, two years ago though? Shows you how much they miss me. Maybe they think I got pummelled by an iceberg. Are you going to eat that?"

Remus pushed his half finished plate towards her, slightly suspicious of what was in there now. Enthusiastically she took a few bites before drawing her attention back at Remus.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"No more then nessicary, I hope," he answered. He was alarmed when she drew up very close to his face and couldn't help but ignore that she had a chunk of sweet potato on the corner of her mouth. He felt the impending need to draw away as quickly as possible, but her grey eyes had pinned him to his seat. She reminded him so much of Sirius in that moment he felt as though he were going to be ill. Both he and her had a very limited knowledge as what constituted as personal space and both of them somehow had the ability to look at you without giving the slightest hint of what they were thinking, which of course led Remus to think the worst.

"You have lovely eyes," she said, finally and drew back, taking another bite from his plate. He didn't have a reply for her and couldn't have given it to her anyways as he heard a fist being slammed on the heavy wooden table behind him. The chatter that had permeated the air suddenly drained out underneath the door into the hall.

"Do you want me to give you to Fenrir?" he heard the man growl. It was Skoll, leaning menacingly over McInnis.

"And what will your master have with me? I'm a peon, nothing, not worth the time, hardly worth the bother. What would he have with a Muggle writer? He'll skin you alive for wasting his time, presenting him with someone like me," McInnis retaliated, not daunted by Skoll's thick muscles and barred teeth.

"Perhaps he'd like to have a nip at your flesh, I'm sure you know he's favourable to the thing," Skoll menaced on.

"Disgusting," McInnis said, and spat into Skoll's food. This was promptly answered by a blow to the head and from beside him Remus could see that Violet had covered over David's eyes. Instinctively Remus's hand flew to his side and had Skoll at wand point in seconds.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Skoll said, putting his murderous look from McInnis who was out could on the floor to Remus. A young man and woman dove down and pulled him away, trying to revive him.

"Remus Lupin. You should leave," Remus said, watching for Skoll to draw his own wand, though he was more expecting a weapon of less sophisticated sorts. He could hear one of the children beginning to cry. Several others had drawn their wands as well, egged on by his unintentional heroics. Skoll continued to sneer at him. Remus didn't back down.

"Lupin...you're that professor from the school aren't you? Wouldn't happen to be friendly with the headmaster would you?"

"I can't see how that concerns you, but it didn't end on amiable terms if it suits you to know."

"Could be a spy," Skoll said from around the end of the table to remove the obstacle of the table between him and Remus. He made a feint at the two who'd pulled McInnis aside and they recoiled but he moved on, content with only bringing them fear for now.

"Could be watching over us for the Headmaster," he continued.

"I'm in servitude of no one," Remus assured him.

"Which is more then can be said for you," McInnis mumbled. Remus resisted giving way to exasperation and instead cast his spell at Skoll as he lunged at McInnis.

_"Stupefy!"_

A bolt of red erupted from his wand and Skoll fell to the floor, unconscious. Everything in the dining hall went dark as the magic interfered with the electricity and shorted the circuits.

"Bugger, that'll cost a bit to fix," McInnis mumbled from the floor.

* * *

Once the excitement came to a conclusion and Skoll had been removed from the floor and the children quietened, Remus was glad to be back in the tiny cavern of a room he'd been given. The electricity hadn't been fixed, but calls had been made for a serviceman to come the next morning. But Remus was worried at how quickly he had managed to get on the wrong side of those openly associated with Fenrir and the Dark Lord. From what he could judge, Skoll would suspect anyone who came to the manor and was a fool, which was little comfort. Fools could still do damage, especially fools with powerful friends. He'd learned that lesson hard enough and did not seek any further tutelage.

Abbatia had arrived soon after, and while grateful for his intervention to the bodily harm that awaited McInnis, he could see the strain on her face and the tiredness in her orders. _It's a losing battle_, she seemed to say with every gesture. Skoll was brought to his room in the manor by his counterpart, Hati.

After he'd jotted down some notes on the state of things at the manor, Remus readied himself for sleep, overwhelmed by how much could happen in a day. He kept turning over the barkeepers words in his head, and though they were few, they were certainly enough. It wasn't logical, but he felt himself hoping that it was possible. He wondered if it'd be worth going back to the pub and submitting his barrage of questions to the barman, or if it'd simply be too dangerous. He tried to find a way for it to be meaningless so that he could ignore it, but the risk it implied in being a matter of his survival was forced upon every excuse he could create. For a moment he entertained the idea of bouncing it off someone at the manor. He dashed the thought, deeming it reckless.

Remus shifted in the single bed, missing for a moment the languid sprawl he could assume at Grimmauld Place. At least he didn't have to think of absence so much when there wasn't any space for someone else on the bed.

* * *

_By third year, Remus thought he had his friends figured out rather well. James, though flawed with vanity, arrogance and recklessness, was a great believer in chivalry, given the opportunity and meant no lasting harm towards anyone. Peter, was something of a fool, but in an endearing sort of way and was appreciative in way beyond words of his friendship with he, Sirius and James. He even had moments of shining wit, which held more potency then any of the others for its sporadic and unexpected appearances. And then there was Sirius. Remus often had the suspicion that if he was to make a complete evaluation of him, he'd find that Sirius was an enigma completely different then from what he'd made him to be._

_He was, like James plagued with a degree of vanity, arrogance and the general reckless endangerment of himself and those around him (and perhaps more so then James on that count), but at his core actually fell under the category of a caring human being. There were things about him though, that were very different. There was a quiet part of him, best revealed through his masquerade as an unaffected pleasure seeker. While he flamboyantly bemoaned the "tragic misfortune of my genealogical history", as he'd once so eloquently put it, Remus ventured to the idea that there was some feeling of abandonment and sadness there. Sirius took things closer to heart then any of them, and it was hard to imagine that he'd be completely unaffected by the pureblood fanaticism that had so successfully isolated him from his family. Remus didn't want to imagine life without his family, but whenever Sirius's family came to mind, the inverse of his own family came to mind._

_Sirius had fallen asleep on his bed, which seemed ridiculous seeing as his own bed was only one over, but it wasn't the first time it had happened. He'd taken habit to watching Remus read for about a quarter of an hour, but then began his interruptions. This usually meant that he was shirking his homework till morning, and Remus was often able to convince him to get it done before then, but sometimes there wasn't a way to evict him. Remus liked that best, though he'd never admit it to Sirius. He wondered if Sirius knew that and it was a part of a game for him._

_When he fell asleep, Sirius would usually be spread out over the blankets sloppily, but as the hours drew on, he began to draw inwards. It was like a childish reaction to vulnerability, contradictive to the usual All Troops Attack M.O. he took in concious life. Eventually he'd have his knees drawn up into him, sometimes brushing Remus' own, and his hands were in front of his face as though braced for an attack that wasn't coming._

_Remus wondered if anyone else saw this, but was glad that he was permitted such a vision even if they had._


	10. Part Nine

Despite the explosive arrival Remus had made his entrance with, he quickly found that the manor was generally a very quiet place that only hummed with ominous foreboding. The hum was omnipresent however, and you could hear it buzzing all the time, in every room. From what Remus had been able to gather, it seemed that many of the people living in the manor were undecided. He didn't blame them, the promises themselves were tempting. As to whether or not they'd be kept was the question that should be pondered, but as always that would be ignored by those who would cling desperately to the charismatic promises out of hope.

It was a large enough place so that you didn't run into people too badly and there were plenty of ways to excuse yourself unceremoniously from a room and not return. He noticed that this was often done when Hati or Skoll entered a room, though it was only with Skoll that he could understand why. He'd been in the manor for two weeks now, and could count on one hand the amount of times that Hati had spoken and one the same hand the times he seemed to pose any real threat. While he was an intimidating sight, nearly seven feet Remus would guess, he was otherwise a very quiet person. He followed Skoll like a shadow, and from what Remus could tell, he didn't engage in conversation with him either. So it was very surprising when he approached Remus one evening in the sitting room.

"Good evening, Hati," Remus said pleasantly, setting down his book. In the last two days alone he'd ploughed through three rather hefty books from Abbatia's extensive and impressive collection. It was a comforting thing and from sitting ubiquitously in some of the more trafficked areas of the manor he'd been able to adequately gather information to pass along to the Order.

Hati nodded and sat down across from him, turning his gaze to the fireplace, apparently entranced by the flames. Remus pretended to return to his book, presenting a non-threatening front, waiting for Hati to speak.

"You were a professor," Hati stated plainly into the flames. His speech was like a thick liquid, slow and the words flowed into each other gently. Hardly the voice of a tyrant, Remus thought.

"Yes, I taught at Hogwarts for a year."

Hati shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed about something. Remus put a sheaf of parchment to mark his page and set his book on the coffee table. He looked Hati on directly, making sure that he knew that he had his complete attention. This seemed to encourage him; Remus could see the words gathering like a pool of water. Hati fidgeted with the pockets of his sweater.

"I can't read," Hati admitted. Remus smiled gently.

"Would you like to learn?"

For the first time since he'd been there, Hati smiled and Remus saw a person instead of a shadow.

* * *

Preparing lessons again felt very agreeable to Remus, even if it wasn't for Defence Against the Dark Arts. In fact, he'd always found it very comfortable to prepare lessons for others, glad to offer himself as more then an extra wand. He'd always found a great satisfaction in teaching others, especially when they'd become legitimately interested in what they were learning. He'd made ends meet more then once with emergency tutoring lessons for homeschooled students.

He was caught a bit off guard with teaching a grown man something as basic as reading, particularly a grown mad who could, given the opportunity, snap him in half. He wasn't so much concerned with that so much as with Skoll however. He'd been told that they were brothers, and they looked as though they could be, but Abbatia mentioned that they weren't related in a technical sense. They'd been "adopted" by Fenrir, which explained Skoll's undying loyalty and Hati's undying fear.

Remus collected some parchment and began to layout a lesson plan for Hati, quickly consumed by the logistics of it and seeking out the materials necessary. Hati confessed that he could only read a few very basic words, but the willingness to learn proved his capacity to expand his expertise. This connection was obviously going to be for the benefit of the Order, but Remus felt genuinely concerned over Hati's illiteracy. Having an innate love for books him self, it was baffling that someone would actually repress someone's education. It only made sense when it came to control, but where was the sense in completely dominating someone's life?

Looking through Abbatia's well-lit, immaculately kept library gave a deep sense of comfort to Remus. He was glad to run his fingers along the spines of books that weren't chock full of dark spells and curses that made your ears erupt with deafening sound or your skin in boils and fanatic manifestos of pureblood lineage. This collection was friendly, and steeped in variety. On a whim he looked to see if Abbatia had any of the books that McInnis had written and sure enough he found several thick collections of short stories of with titles such as "Downing Street Gutters" and "Fifteen Wrights". He added _Fifteen Wrights_ to his stack of book and decided to scoot out before he'd require a wheelbarrow.

Remus went back to the library several times to revise his choices for his lesson with Hati the next evening. He wasn't ever really certain until he did something, often over preparing, which he assured himself was a better way to go about it then going in without a clue. Asides from Sirius lurking around the grounds at Hogwarts the year that he'd taught there, that had been the most exhaustive routine to tend to. He set the sizeable stack of books on the dresser in his cramped quarters _(plenty of reading to do, I see)_ and left the modified bomb shelter. As he stepped out, Violet was just leaving but stopped when she spotted him. She was wrestling for control over three large dogs.

"Help, please," she said breathlessly, thrusting out an arm holding to a thick black leash. Three handsome dogs were tumbling over each other, entangling the leashes in their excitement. He tried to ignore the nagging reorganization of the largest of the three and it's similarity to Sirius' Animagus shape. That was likely the one he'd seen during the last moon. He took the leash of the trim hunting hound that had gotten its leg caught up badly.

"Thank-you," Violet said, looking relieved.

"You're welcome," Remus said, untangling the dogs for her.

"They remind me of my parent's dogs, always all up and over each other. They want me to take care of them next weekend you know."

Remus eyed her suspiciously. The morning after the confrontation with Skoll, Remus had discovered that Violet delighted and prized herself as a compulsive liar. She was completely aware of what she was doing, McInnis told him, and that to her it was just story telling. Remus hadn't entirely believed McInnis for the first few days, but it was only a matter of time before the stories began to overlap and contradict each other. Yesterday, her mother was a souse chef in an Italian restaurant in Aberdeen. They happened to be having pasta for dinner. She took things from whatever environment happened to be present at the time to build stories, although sometimes you couldn't follow what in the surroundings had triggered the idea. He waited for the one about her father being a dog breeder to begin.

"I said no of course, I mean, what do they take me for? They're the bloody dog breeders. Me, I'm more of a cat person. Thought about being a vet for the longest time, even took a few courses in biology, but once I became a werewolf it just seemed strange. Can you imagine that? A werewolf veterinarian? Bloody James Herriot, bloody hell."

Remus listened loosely, keeping a firm hold at the hound as they headed down the drive way. He didn't mind Violet's litanies, something he seemed to have become impervious to through his exposure to James and Sirius during Hogwarts. They were more entertaining then anything if you allowed them to be, an unrestrained stream of consciousness. He wondered what would be produced if Violet tried her hand at writing. It'd either be a thousand pages of viciously contradictory verbiage or she'd surprise them all and bring forth a phenomenal piece of literature. Or maybe a viciously contradictory verbiage would be hailed as a phenomenal piece of literature anyways and maybe it would be.

"Do you like animals?" she said suddenly after her grossly exaggerated tale had come to an end.

"They're fair enough," Remus answered, doing his best to restrain the creature that threatened to bring him careening down the slick road.

"They're fair enough? What kind do you like?" she pressed. Remus wondered if she was incapable of proper conversation.

"I don't know. I like all sorts."

Violet groaned.

"I like Bowtruckles."

"There we go."

They walked along quietly, the dogs making strained noises as their throats pressed on their collars and they struggled to walk forwards. Remus didn't like their noises, and tried to look over the black dog. In the quick descending night that comes with winter however, he was forced to watch his feet to avoid falling. The pair of dogs that Violet had taken hold of seemed to have calmed, walking obediently with only the occasional horse play.

Suddenly, Remus felt himself falling backwards, as though an anchor had been thrown down behind him. Violet braced his fall, dropping down the leashes of the two dogs but there seemed to be no danger of them running away. They'd all sat down and were sniffing at the air, their heads going from to side to side.

"There's something wrong," Violet muttered, helping him up. Remus believed her, watching her body tense as the dogs and his own did. He slipped his hand into his pocket onto the handle of his wand. The wood seemed to radiate a reassuring heat and hummed in his palm.

"Hush, Maera," Violet hissed to the black dog, who had begun whimpering. The energetic hound he'd been clinging on to began to growl, upholding his loyalty even in fear. The other two dared several steps forward but could go no further.

"What animals are in the woods?" Remus asked evenly, trying to peer into the trees.

"Bears, birds, mice...maybe some wolves...there's a centaur tribe that comes through now and then. I've heard a Welsh Green came through one year..." Violet replied delicately. Remus wondered why it was that she didn't look as through she were ready to draw her own wand. Regarding her for a moment, he decided that she was doing the best to her abilities to help and wasn't currently in the temptation to lie. It couldn't be a non-magical beast; Remus noted as the agitation of the dogs grew, they should be used to that having lived with wizards. It wasn't anything mechanical either, remembering that there were Muggles nearby. That wouldn't put this sort of fear in them. He didn't know what that left though.

"Show yourself," Remus ventured, his voice sounding steely on his ears. The air had gone still and the dogs covered any sounds he might be able to pick up from either side of the road.

"We have to go," Violet said, beginning to tug on the dog's leashes. Remus nodded, and began to make efforts to help Violet with the dogs. It'd have been easy if one of the dogs hadn't started having a fit and begun trying to loose itself from its collar.

"Maera!" Violet cried out as the dog set itself free and went off running. Its dark fur was quickly consumed by the shadows and dark in the trees. It was clear that there'd be no finding it tonight. The remaining dogs began to howl after their mate. Violet stood a moment, trying to decide whether or not to go after the dog, but settled on scooping up one in her arms. She wavered as she began to walk up the icy drive, and Remus could hear her sniffling. It could have been the cold, but he was sure that she was crying.

With a last look into the trees where Maera had just disappeared, Remus sighed and followed after Violet, feeling the dog in his arms shiver and the snow melting and soaking them both.

* * *

Abbatia was pacing and Remus wanted to tell her to stop because it made him want to do it too. His foot flicked and he sat in the chair to resist the movement.

"You saw nothing?"

"No, there was no one."

"This is ridiculous, we know who we should be asking," Violet said angrily and began to leave the room.

"Violet, stop," Abbatia said sternly. Violet obliged, but only after shooting a dirty look at Abbatia. It really showed her age, Remus thought mildly.

"If anyone is to do that, it'll be me."

Violet's expression fell from a look of disdain quickly softened.

"It's probably some of Fenrir's lookouts. They've put us in quarantine before. Until we know what's happening, I don't want anyone to leave the grounds. Can you leave us a moment Violet?"

Violet nodded and slipped out of the study quietly, casting one last look between Abbatia and Remus. Remus could guess what Abbatia was intending to ask. He was glad that she stopped pacing and had settled herself behind her desk. While the setting reminded him much of seeing the headmaster, he could feel equal to Abbatia rather then a pupil. Even when he'd been teaching at Hogwarts, he'd never felt to be in such a position even with the other professors. Many of them had taught him during his attendance at the school.

"Is there anything that you haven't told me that might be important to our security? I don't want whatever that is, if there is anything, putting these people at risk. With Hati and Skoll we're doing badly enough without you bringing on more," she says wearily. He was comforted that it was without any hurtful accusation. Looking him straight in the eye, Remus is reminded of his escapade into memory obliteration and considered telling her. Would it compromise the Order?

He couldn't afford the honesty, he settled, no matter how much he felt that he could trust this woman.

"No, there's nothing. I can't think of anyone."

Disappointed, Abbatia nodded and settled into her chair.

* * *

_Sirius came and made room for himself beside Remus, exhausted. Mostly he just ended up sitting on him, which would be fine once Remus could sort out his mug of tea and the paper._

_More disappearances; it was the most dangerous times of their lives, and the paper still couldn't admit that these people were being murdered. Everyone knew of course that the missing people were in all likelihood killed by Voldemort's Death Eaters, but they still insisted on breeding some false hope. It wasn't right._

_Remus set the paper down, and tried to shift Sirius enough so that he didn't feel as though he were being impaled in about four or five places by the metal on his belt. Everything about Sirius' attire seemed designed to inflict pain on whomever he came near. Or sat on._

_"Hang on, quit squirming," Sirius groaned, shifting his hips upwards and undoing the belt. The record from the kitchen blared in indiscernible guitar thrashes and pounding drum kits. As the belt hit the floor, Remus wondered if that could be considered music too, seeing as it sounded so similar to the clattering defiling the honour of his gramophone._

_"Did you check the charms?" Remus asked, the "missing" people from the paper still nagging at him._

_"Of course," Sirius muttered sleepily, settling back into their beaten and threadbare couch. Since James and Lily had gone into hiding, they'd moved into their own flat. As with everyone who was capable of performing them, there were wards and charms and spells all culminating to some small pinnacle of hope that you weren't going to get attacked by Voldemort's followers and if you did, you'd have enough time to get yourself and anyone you cared about out in time. Thinking about it made his skin crawl. Or maybe it was the music or how it played like a soundtrack to his fears._

_Remus tried to relax, rearranging his arms so he's got a hold of Sirius, who he is pretty sure is already sleeping. He's trying to remember how much he likes this, and how no matter what's going on he can still remember how he likes it, this closeness. He tries to remember how Sirius has and probably always will be able to fall asleep despite how loud the music is. Remus never stops Sirius from playing what he likes, and he tries to remember that, doing his best to capture all the little things of the moment not so much so that he can visit them later but so that he can appreciate it as much as he could, right now, until he fell asleep too._

* * *

**Extra:** _The Hero of McInnis' Next Novel_

"You're like a hero," McInnis said, smoking in a chair behind Remus. Remus dropped his hands from overtop the fire, turning to face McInnis.

"Oh?" It was the only thing that came out, and Remus wanted to kick himself for not stating that he thought that the notion was ridiculous, that McInnis was thinking of someone else and that it was probably one of his friends. Only McInnis didn't know his friends, but that was a minor detail he could overlook. He was not a hero, or a villain, or really even a sidekick. In the grand scheme of things, he was a grunt.

"Yeah. You come here, save me from being completely beaten to a pulp by Skoll, you kept it together and kept Violet safe today, and you're full of intrigue. Abbatia doesn't talk to us much, but you've been into her little lair for tea almost every other day. You're a hero, you must be."

Remus gave a scoff. A hero, right. And those tea times were exactly just that. Tea times, not secret meetings. Not much intrigue there. There wasn't any thing special that they chatted about but he knew that McInnis was right, Abbatia didn't often talk to the others.

"I'm not a hero," Remus said flatly.

"Okay," McInnis said, but he was grinning, "but I like you're work. Just thought I'd let you know that. There aren't many _real_ gentlemen left nowadays."

"I'll settle for being a gentleman, but I'm definitely not a hero."

"Exactly what a hero would say."

Remus frowned and returned to warming his hands. He really didn't know why they were always so cold.


	11. Part Ten

It became staggeringly apparent that when Hati said that he didn't know many words, he really meant it. Remus hadn't doubted him, but he felt slightly unprepared once the extent of Hati's lack knowledge was laid bare. It wasn't his fault of course; it was all a part of the control that Fenrir had exerted over him and Skoll. Remus wasn't at all surprised at the second rate tactics Fenrir had used, and took heart in knowing that Hati was doing his best to work around it in earnest. He'd asked that Skoll not know and Remus complied.

"Is this right?" Hati asked, slowing nudging the parchment across the table.

Remus looked over the shaky scrawl of letters. They'd gotten halfway though the alphabet. It was a strange thing. Hati was capable of writing his name, and one word messages that would indicate the state of things; help, danger, news. But they weren't words to him; they were symbols that led to a reaction.

"Yes, you've got it perfectly."

Hati smiled briefly, taking pleasure in progress, before taking back the parchment and focusing his attention again. Remus turned his own attention to the letter he had before him, trying with as much sincerity and intent as Hati had to learn, to compose something that didn't sound contrived or trite to send to Harry. He was finding that the more he tried to wrestle the words into matching the overwhelming need to say them, the more they sounded as though he hadn't written them at all. It was like picking a card from the store where the sayings were somehow on the borders of an insult to memory and a platitude in good stock for forgetting later but leaving you satisfied that you had at least tried. It didn't have to be the perfect letter, or the perfect words, but if they weren't at least in the same field, Remus didn't have the heart to send them on. It was astounding how much he wished to be involved in Harry's life but couldn't seem to find his place. Maybe that was what he was supposed to say, but it seemed too burdensome for a young man who didn't need more added to his mind.

"Are you alright?"

Remus looked up, pulling himself back onto solid ground. It was McInnis.

"Yes, we're fine," Remus responded pleasantly, completely aware that McInnis was eyeing Hati with utmost contempt.

"I think I'll join you," McInnis said, never taking his eye off Hati. The larger man kept his eyes on the parchment, pretending not to notice McInnis and the air of suspicion he brought with him. Remus smiled inwardly at McInnis' concern.

"Writing a letter?"

"Tried to, failed. It's for my...nephew, at school. He probably has other things to worry about anyways," Remus said wearily, balling it up and lobbing it into the fireplace. It probably wasn't a good idea to send mail out from here to Harry anyways. It could be intercepted.

"Mm, yeah, I quit after a while too. There isn't much to say about turning into a nasty quadruped once a month after a while, especially when you're trying not to say it."

"What do you mean?"

"I haven't told them, my kids I mean. They're grown up now, had them before I was bitten. Have you got kids?"

Remus scoffed.

"Me? No. That's probably the most irresponsible thing I could ever do."

"That probably means you'd be a good parent, if you'd say something like that. Ever want them?"

"I don't think that'd be a good idea. The odds are worse then fifty-fifty that they'd even make it past their first moon."

"Yeah, but have you ever wanted them?"

"Couldn't really, even if I wanted to."

Hati had finished another line for Remus to check, a distraction he silently thanked. He didn't think about children often given that it was simply impossible unless they'd adopted. But when they were younger they were too caught up in the war, and Sirius was enough to take care of as it was. It wasn't that he hadn't ever thought about it, he just never considered it an option. It'd be good, he thought, in the right situation.

"Looks good," McInnis said, leaning in beside him.

"Thank-you," Hati responded warily. McInnis didn't say anything in attack and instead leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The tiredness written over his body made Remus feel ailed too, but glad to have escaped that level of deterioration so far.

"It's my birthday soon," McInnis said airily, "Can you tell Juliana that I like chocolate cake?"

"Always a good choice," Remus agreed.

* * *

_"You're getting icing all over your mouth. It's astounding really, how easily you miss the largest orifice on your face."_

_"Hush killjoy," Sirius said through a mouthful of cake, shutting his eyes to block out his friends._

_"Sirius has always had problems sorting out which orifice to pay attention to," James noted distractedly, his full attention directed at Lily. Lily made a sound of distaste that Remus could agree with because it looked as though James were confessing from the bottom of his heart about Sirius' orifices. She escaped by taking the dishes into the kitchen as Sirius continued to finish his cake._

_Sleepily, Remus thought about how the cake had looked absolutely ravishing the night before at the reception; to see it now treated with such haphazard gluttony seemed a great disservice. It was even smudged on the side of his neck now, which was some small achievement in itself. Leaning over, Remus put his mouth over it, the sweetness filled his mouth, but his taste was confused by the scent of Sirius' hair, still smelling of whatever he'd used to slick it back the night before._

_"Gawrg," Sirius growled, ducking his head sideways, hitting Remus on the side of his head with his own temple._

_"Thieves; this is supposed to be my wedded bliss. You're breaking my heart, brain...pancreas. The time is not allowing me to think of bodily organs in a constructive fashion. I'm going to my wife," James said. The word wife made his face go strange, something on the corners of his mouth, but Remus didn't have the heart to tell him so._

_"There shalt be no breaking be it any other then the bed upon which-"_

_Remus clamped his hand over Sirius' mouth; it was too early to defile the first morning of their friends fresh life of wedlock. Remus could feel on his hands now the sticky coagulated mixture of icing and cake. Sirius' shoulders fell forward in indication of defeat, but Remus could feel him still chewing the cake and gave him a reproachful look. Swallowing, Sirius knocked away Remus' hand and stood to stretch._

_"Why is it always white icing? It doesn't go well with anything. If we ever get married, it's all chocolate. Or we could have a massive banana split. But that'd melt I guess."_

_"It's to do with purity, not taste."_

_"Pah. That doesn't make sense. I was under the impression that a lot of the things leading up to a marriage were guided by less then pure notions. And if you're saying that they haven't had a go a dozen times before last night...you'd be a downright liar. And deaf, so very deaf."_

_"It's obvious you're entering a sugar coma, you're making less sense by the minute. They love each other, and _I_ was under the impression that love was a pure intention. The cake is just symbol and there's nothing really to argue after you've inhaled it so masterfully. You know, you could have at least eaten an actual breakfast first."_

_"I'm making perfect sense. Crystal clear clarity; you're just not paying enough attention. And my breakfast is sugary cereal anyways, so substituting it with cake isn't as terrible as you make it sound, so stop making faces."_

_Sirius settled back down beside him, carefully watching Lily and James. They'd always operated in the most domestic and fluid fashion, but today they were absolutely impeccable in co-ordination. Remus wasn't sure if he'd ever seen anyone more suited for marriage, even his own parents._

_"Do you think we'd ever do something like that? I mean, if we could?" Sirius asked quietly. Suddenly Remus felt uncomfortable. The immediate answer was that no, he didn't think they would. It didn't appeal to him. Of course, in the circumstance that they could and Sirius wanted it, he would. But he wouldn't be the one who asked for it. Marriage seemed too much like an attempt at making a guarantee. It was only a ceremony and some words. Things like that were broken easily and he didn't know if he would be able to fix it if it did. It seemed it would be easier to fix what they had should it start to fall apart. He liked it this way, adding in marriage didn't seem like it'd make it any better, even if it didn't make it worse. He loved Sirius, and that was enough. He didn't need prove the validity of anything._

_"I don't know. If you wanted to I would," Remus replied carefully. He didn't know how Sirius would respond. Knowing Sirius, he would do one of three things. The first was that he was just vocalizing his thoughts and it didn't mean anything. The second was that he was vocalizing them and it all meant something or at least it would when he came to a conclusion. The third case was that Sirius had planned this conversation in his head, and if Remus didn't follow the script there would be some grief following later. He hoped it was the first or second._

_"Mm. Me too."_

* * *

Purity. White meant purity. He didn't remember who told him that or even why.

The moon stood out full and pallid against the colours of the rising morning. It was strange to see it full and only feel a fraction of the pain it'd wreak on his body once whatever it was in the suns light didn't protect him anymore. He could feel it, his bones being tugged and jostled inside his skin. It made him feel very clumsy, more then he usually felt. It was like being a child, innocent, uncoordinated. When he saw the moon like this, he remembered what white meant.

Hati watched the morning, the colours slowly being washed out by the sun's light. Inside the manor he could hear waking sounds. In the winter everyone seemed to get up late, probably because of the dark mornings and short days. Today he could understand if they wanted to keep asleep. In all likelihood they would feel the same shifting in them. It used to make him sick and Skoll would berate him for it. But he knew that Skoll felt it worse then him. Skoll had never retorted to whatever insult was thrown at him. It made him feel like the better person, even if in thinking that, it only affirmed that he wasn't.

_This morning,_ Hati thought but was unable to complete the thought. He didn't know what this morning was. He knew what the night was, but the morning was always the most clouded time of day in his mind.

It wasn't much clouded for Lupin, he could tell, unless the clouds were those of nightmares. Waking early gave the privilege of seeing others in vulnerable states. Lupin, who from what Hati knew was often inscrutable, showing only the mildest inflictions of emotion on his face throughout the day. If he wasn't reading or quietly listening to the conversations of others, he was completely impassive. But that resistance to the pains caused by others was more revealing than anything else he could have done and it was only in the morning that you could see it clearly as he walked from the bunker to the manor. It was in his step and carved deeply on his mouth. He was rested, more then he had been before he arrived though that measure wasn't impressive, but there was something beyond the wear of nearly a lifetime of moons could account for. Hati was unable to ask, partly because there was no appropriate wording, but he also knew it was unlikely he'd ever get the honest answer to know what had done that to the only person that had given him the courtesy to be afforded as a person.

"Lupin!"

Hati pressed himself around the corner; it was McInnis. McInnis made him nervous because he was never certain of what he would say. He knew more then Hati would like to be known.

"Lupin," McInnis repeated, moving as quickly as he could with his cane, "I need to talk to you."

He had lowered his voice, but they'd gotten so close that now it was impossible to prove that his presence was completely coincidental. Hati found himself cursing his large build and the fear that had come to match it. If he had wanted to move or make himself known he wouldn't have been able to. McInnis never woke up early an ill omen to start with. It meant that he'd specifically gotten up to speak to Lupin and that fear that was as large as his body told Hati that it was likely about him. That fear wasn't always right and usually wasn't, but this time it could be.

"It's about Hati."

Hati's heart plummeted out through the bottom of his feet and had begun burrowing into the ground like the cowardly rodent it was. To add to it, it seemed that the moon was trying to punish him by making his joints lurch into the small space that divided him from McInnis and Lupin. He locked his knees.

"What of him?"

"There's plenty. My concern is that you're getting in close with him and honestly, I'm worried. What happens when Skoll decides when you aren't worth the risk anymore, or Hati, for that matter? As quick as you are with that wand of yours...I'm just saying that it wouldn't take much for the man to plant a knife in your back."

What McInnis was suggesting didn't anger Hati. He knew what he was, how he appeared. He waited, fearing Lupin's reaction more then he feared where McInnis could lead the conversation. The _warning_; so far it wasn't a conversation, and depending on Lupin, it could skip over conversation and go straight on into an argument.

"Is there something that I don't know, or, is this speculative accusation coming from blame through association?" Lupin replied after what seemed nothing short of eternity. The only other person who'd been able to bring him to that kind of anticipation was Fenrir. Fenrir wasn't quite so eloquent however, not that style was of concern.

"That's a mouthful. No it isn't any bloody speculative accusation. It isn't my place to tell you why I know he's a downright bastard, but I can tell you that he's just that; a downright bastard."

"If it isn't your place to tell me, it leads me to think that it's more complicated then you're letting on."

"If you'd been there you'd have come to the same conclusion."

"There's no way you could know that."

There was a silence, the sort brought on by a challenge. As ever, agitation was not weaved into Lupin's voice. Everything he said in counter-attack sounded more like an observation on an assignment. Hati was sure he could feel the tremors of frustration from McInnis, and the uncertainty in his own heart, which had begun to crawl back into its proper place from the ground it had burrowed in to. To believe that Lupin was defending him seemed too miraculous, too much like it would crumble with disappointment and shame. Hati had absolutely no belief in that he was worthy of such chivalry.

"Your problem with Hati is that you assume the worst of him," Lupin said at last, a sigh creeping into his voice.

"And you assume the best!" McInnis hissed.

"Serious-" Lupin stopped abruptly. iThey know I'm here!/i Hati thought frantically. Any moment now, they'd look around the corner or someone would come up behind him and reveal him and any defence Lupin had mounted for him would indeed be revoked for such ingratitude. Disgust would replace the troubled sleepings of Remus Lupin, and Hati would again be nothing more then the lackey of men more powerful and knowledgeable then himself. Finally, his limbs allowed for some motor function and Hati was able to begin edging away.

He heard them beginning to speak again, but by the time they'd begun, Hati had managed to draw himself far enough away to make a loud and lumbering approach, footsteps making their place known it what would appear to be a casual passing into the main doors of the manor. Maybe he wouldn't be suspect at all, and he would be saved the embarrassment of being revealed as exactly the type of man McInnis thought he was and could provide a very convincing argument to support that denouement.

* * *

Lupin had choked at the end of the syllable that completed Sirius' name. He'd still been thinking of him from dreams he'd come across as he slept. A dream, not a nightmare, a dream where when he woke up he'd muttered the name instead of swallowed it out of fear. It was the first dream he'd had of Sirius since he'd died where he hadn't been falling into that wretched veil. It was a dream without the exact details and realities of nightmares, the kind of dream that made Sirius' face melt and mould into different ages of his life. The fabrics of clothing had changed and frayed into other pieces of favoured wardrobe. Backgrounds had no connections as they fluttered overtop of each other in disconnected layers. It had been a dream, not a nightmare. He hadn't woken up feeling like he was losing the confines of sanity, instead knowing only abandonment and grief. And for once, those were small expense for a glimpse into a place he couldn't go in the waking world.

_Who's Sirius?_ McInnis asked more viciously then he realized, the subject of Hati still hot on his tongue. It was clear how much the affable relationship between he and Hati infuriated and raised alarm in the author. The sentiment was not lost on Remus, but neither was the irritation. Sirius and James had done the same thing with him all throughout their relationship and Remus had never thought that their protection was necessary and was slow to admit it when it turned out that their concerns were correct. He was quick however to admit horror at uttering Sirius' name to McInnis, a momentary lapse into the dreams of the night before.

_Who's Sirius?_

Someone who's gone, Sirius is someone who's gone. Like everyone whom I've loved or has loved me, Sirius is someone who's gone and who I can only hope to see in an afterlife I don't know if I should believe in.

_Sirius is someone who's gone, McInnis, I apologize. Excuse me, I need to attend to something._


	12. Part Eleven

The moment he'd woken up on familiar grounds, Remus knew that a face to face meeting with a member of the Order was in need. With his senses painfully sharp, he knew just how close they were to the school. The scents in the air told him easily and when he lifted himself enough to see the lake before him and the school in dank morning light reflected in the water, he was alarmed. They'd been led there, he was sure of it. Had Abbatia used a Wolfsbane potion? It was entirely possible that this had been a test run. He'd wait until later to pass a judgment on her; right now he could barely focus on staying awake.

A day later, Remus managed to get himself out of bed, and defeated, borrowed one of McInnis' canes. He went out into the forest, and sent a message through his Patronus. He watched it fade off into the dark of the forest and waited. It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes, he thought. Twenty minutes out in the cold and wet snow was plenty longer than he'd like to be out there in the state that he was. He could feel the wet climate eat at his bones, saturate his lungs. He tried sitting, but it seemed to bring more pain than standing. He began to pace back and forth, which offered some distraction to the moon's damage. It took half an hour to get a response. The silvery light came bounding before him and he frowned; of all the days and of all the people to answer...

Tonks waited. She wasn't patient, half-heartedly building up creamers from the bowl beside her into little towers. The moment she'd gotten the message she'd taken a moment to respond and Apparated into the alleyway beside the cafe she was supposed to meet him in. She still hadn't sorted out how she felt about it, feeling some element of excitement, but feeling mostly fear; she'd found the notes in Sirius' room. The ones Remus had written.

She dreaded telling him, but at the same time dreaded knowing why he'd written so many nonsense notes. Those had been alarming, boxed away along with Sirius' clothes, belongings, their photographs. The photographs had been heartbreaking to look at, but the notes were a different story. They were confusing. There were messy scrawls and carefully shaped scripts. Added to the strange behaviour Remus had displayed before he left, it made her apprehensive of how to tell him, if at all. It was questioning his competency. It was questioning his mental health. Even in the wizarding world, mental health was still a taboo subject, something they had a shameful commonness with the Muggle world. It held as much stigma as being a werewolf. The two together left to the imagination of enough individuals would do much to damage his reputation. That's why she hadn't told anyone. Maybe it was selfish and arrogant, but it was protecting him. If there was anyone she should have told it should have been Dumbledore or Alastor. They'd know better what to do than her. It was too late now.

She heard the bells over the door tinkle. She didn't have to look to know that it was him, but when she did she saw that he walked slowly, pressing his weight delicately over the support of a cane. She'd never seen him use a cane before. He looked thin enough to know that he'd been neglecting meals, tired enough to show that he'd had a bad moon phase and beaten enough to prove that even the accelerated healing abnormalities invested in werewolves hadn't been enough to bring him back to his proper vigour. A cut over his hand tore over the blossom of a bruise, explaining his pained look each time he put his weight over the cane. She hated to think of the state of his other hand because the pain in that must be greater than the hand he had chosen to use.

"I've looked worse," he said mildly, slipping carefully into the booth. Looking to his lips, she imagined that his lips looked tender and swollen with the moonlight, but the poetic device did little to lessen the obvious hurt he'd suffered and the ugly cut marring the corner of his mouth. It'd probably split open again throughout the conversation.

"You always say that," Tonks chastised weakly.

"Not the last time you saw."

Tonks nodded stiffly, her mind quickly racing over the morning she and Molly had found him in a bloodied heap in the cellar; the reality of a werewolf.

A waitress came over to them, and for a moment her eyes drifted over his scars, and the damages he'd suffered but politely took their order instead of asking questions. Remus ordered two mugs of hot chocolate, making her smile. Out of the corner of her eye saw her hair take on a deeper shade, which made her blush. She could nearly guarantee that he had noticed and choose to ignore her, the knowledge hollowing her. Delicately, he curled a hand the broad part of the mug, avoiding hitting his hand against the inside of handle.

"They're close to the school. I didn't realize how close until the other morning. Abbatia put some excellent charms on the property, confusing the location from Muggles and Wizards, but each month they have to be taken down so that it doesn't confuse the pack. I'm sure you can imagine the havoc it'd cause with a pack of werewolves driven mad.

"How close?"

She wanted to take him home. Never mind this, just take him home and make him better. But would she be able too, even if she did get him out of here? It was too dangerous. How could he protect himself if he needed to? It was a whole pack of wolves. No matter how skilled he was, the likelihood of him getting out alive should he be discovered was greatly diminished by the sheer number he'd face in opposition.

"The pack can get there in less than an hour. One of the watchers is friendly with me; he said it took hardly any time at all."

Tonks nodded, alarmed by the information,

"How could we not know?"

"The magic protecting the property is...incredible. The witch who performed it is very proficient with defensive magic."

"You sound like you're infatuated," Tonks muttered disdainfully, barely a whisper.

"Pardon me?"

"You sound like you're infatuated with her skill."

"Well, I don't think that can compare. She does it with a fervor I don't possess. She's protecting her pack."

Tonks didn't answer, eyes fixated on the table. He already knew what she felt; she didn't have to risk making him feel guilty for rejecting her. They had little in common; he was right on that account. Hearing him talk about werewolves as though it were a completely normal condition alienated her. He hadn't ever done that before, but perhaps living with the others had normalized it. Or he was doing it on purpose. Her throat felt as though it were closing up. She tried to clear it, not wanting to cry over this. It was nothing, and she didn't need to make herself appear even younger to him.

"What about the other packs?" She eagerly changed the subject and looked up to him with the best face of business she could muster. Because they'd come here with a purpose, it'd seem completely legitimate. This was a meeting of business; she had to parry off any personal concerns. It did her no good to look at the damage wreaked over his body though. She found the same spot on the table and listened intently to the report.

He'd made himself close with the Alpha Female of the pack, he told her; the woman held a wealth of knowledge about the movements and affiliations of the other packs. She knew this, and did that, Tonks mocked in her mind. It was mean-spirited, but Tonks felt herself become jealous, more easily then she could have anticipated and did nothing to reason with the emotion. Of course, he wasn't actually only talking about her, he digressed many times into the associations with other members of the pack, but she was hearing most clearly about Abbatia.

"The pack is mostly undecided. Some of them are obviously against Fenrir and Voldemort, some in complete support, but for the most part they're on the fence. Nothing unusual, but I think if it came too, most of them can be coerced into working for Voldemort. We don't have many reliable friends. It's not as though were really know what we're looking for though."

Tonks eyes snapped up from the table to him.

"What?"

Remus inclined his head a fraction, eyes imploring her to clarify herself more clearly.

"You...wrote that down somewhere before," she said meekly, incapable of lying. The jealousy had laid her guard down and now she was carelessly confessing what she'd done. If she had a kingdom or mountains of gold, she'd gladly surrender it to become the mug of now cold chocolate on the table.

"Did I?"

"You don't remember?"

He shook his head no. Tonks sank further into her seat.

"I...was looking for something in Sirius' room. I was worried about you," she said quickly. His eyes went icy. She was going to regret this, she knew it, but continued anyways,

"I found a box filled with notes. I thought they might be important so a read a few...and then a few more. I'm so sorry..."

"You had no business going through there," he said with unfamiliar steel.

"I'm so sorry. I thought it might be important...I was worried about you!"

The desperation she felt was quickly devouring her prudence, and her voice felt biting in her throat as though warning her to stop. She felt like she was five-years-old again.

"I don't know why you'd write those things. I had planned to ask you about them more delicately...Remus, please, I-"

"You didn't have any right to go through those things. If they were important, I would have surrendered them over to the Order, not to overly curious hands."

Tears welled in her eyes before she had a change to suppress them and then fell just as quickly before she could wipe them away; human to fountain in approximately three seconds. It must be a record, she bemoaned, why isn't he hearing that I'm sorry!

They were all questioning his condition ever since Sirius died. Collectively, they wished the best for him, but seeing his eyes go into a livid storm, it was obvious that he hadn't thought of that. All he saw was an invader and maybe that's all she was. When she'd been reading over the notes she knew that she was passing a boundary but she was sure that it was out of well-meaning. Or selfishness; she hadn't shared it with anyone. She wasn't letting anyone else help.

"I'm sorry. But you have to know how it looks; I haven't mentioned it to anyone," she was putting her words carefully, "Remus, please, is there something that you haven't told us that we should know?"

His face didn't soften his eyes instead flashing more dangerously than ever.

"It's none of your concern. It doesn't effect what I'm doing here."

He left some money on the table for the waitress, and left. She felt responsible for each staggering step he took.

She hated to imagine what he would have done if he were well, noticing that his hands had been trembling with obvious violation. It wasn't that she thought he'd hurt her, she could never imagine that, it was that he'd more than likely hurt himself. He'd proven masterfully that he could do that with the greatest ease.

He'd been gone for the week. He'd done things he knew he shouldn't have, things he knew that Remus should leave him for.

"If you want something, you're supposed to come home and get it from me," Remus hissed through his teeth. Sirius stood defiantly, not moving a muscle even though every word dripped with venom and made haphazard incisions. He could see Remus' hand trembling, while his shoulders shook. Why am I doing this to him?

"And what do you want of me? I'm not the only one who leaves for days on end-"

"I leave because I can't stand to be in the same room as you!"

Sirius felt as though he'd been winded. He hadn't expected that. Any restraint and forewarning he had been paying note to disappeared into a plume of fury and he had his hands clamped onto the taller man's shoulders, shoving him backwards onto the floor. Sprawled on the floor, Remus looked back up at him and Sirius marveled at how he was all arms and legs when he was toppled over. With terrifyingly slow measure, Remus picked himself off the floor.

"Are you sorry?"

Being angry always took more energy than necessary from him, but because of the moon it had been even more draining. He was still angry; he could still feel it burning over his skin like a corrosive. He'd Apparated as close as he could to the manor, and walked the drive, grateful that it provided time for his temperament to cool even if it also prolonged his injuries.

How could she have looked through his things? Where could it ever occur to her that it was acceptable? Madness...

The chill breeze unaffectedly beat against his face, stinging his cheeks and nose. Pulling up the collar of his jacket, he looked up the gentle incline, though it seemed more like a cliff in his state. As he slowly made his way along, and he went over the things she had said and he found something he'd missed as the anger had been culminating. Now that it was flowing out of him by the distraction of his task, he could spot the bits of the exchange that hadn't quite fit. She said that he, Remus, had written the notes. An easy enough mistake he could argue, but it didn't fit properly. It was too much of a coincidence.

He started when something landed in front of him, flaming plumage obscuring the inquisitive tilt of the birds head with its brilliance at first; Fawkes. Word went quickly.

* * *

_"Don't get so hysterical. You're such a woman sometimes," Sirius sneered. He looked Remus straight in the eye. They were bestial. They were terrifying. They were older, more worn down than he remembered. He used to be able to go on much longer against this barrage of anger and stupidity Sirius always managed to find and conjoin together. That probably wasn't true._

_You're taking this out on me; stop."_

_Sirius could tell that he was trying to even himself, restore his sedate composition. It only egged him on though, challenged him to push him that little further._

_"James would have been able to take it."_

_It was probably the most idiotic thing he could have thought of saying, seeing as it had little place and definitely the most disjointed thing he could have actually said out loud. He always managed to say the most thickheaded things, sober or not. It's enough to hurt him, Sirius thought, feeling their bodies collide violently, teeth knocking against each other. He tasted blood, metallic. Remus never made as much sense as he liked when he was angry either. It was hard to kiss him back and win. For Remus it was desperation, but right now, Sirius felt as though it were more of a contest. He didn't like to lose, but felt himself being overpowered. He didn't like it when Remus was like this. It'd only been like this a handful of times before, but Sirius knew that he'd always pushed until it happened. They'd both be ashamed afterwards, but it did succeed in making Remus human._

_He tried to shove Remus off, stop this, but they were already too caught. The clumsy defense knocked them to the floor, dumbstruck. Recovering more quickly, Remus grabbed at Sirius' wrists, and pinned him, spread eagle. He felt very exposed; the monster inside Remus looked as though it would tear his flesh open._

_"You'll probably win," Sirius said, looking away, underneath the bed to the shadowed patterns on the wall on the other side. The paper was peeling upwards. It was ugly, like the rest of Grimmauld Place. He felt the grip on his wrists loosen and release, and then Remus' curled body deflate overtop him without quite settling his weight. His head dropped into Sirius' neck._

_"You did that on purpose," Remus growled, "You think it's funny."_

_"It's not. But I still did it."_

_Sirius lifted his arms and began to stand, lifting Remus as well, who had gone limp. He didn't deserve the constant fight that Sirius gave him each day. Tears threatened to well; Remus didn't know how well he was able to do that to people. Make them feel like less than they are. He didn't intend it, but it didn't hurt any less knowing that. Sirius rested one hand on the back of Remus' neck and used the other to wipe at his face. A diluted red appeared on white sleeve. He dropped the arm over the base of Remus' back so that he didn't have to see it. Just as he predicted, he wasn't proud of himself._

_"I'm sorry you have to wait here," Remus muttered. His own limbs had regained their movement and settled around them in a gripping embrace. Sirius sighed. How did Remus always find the apologies first? Arms tightened around him, misinterpreting the weary exhale._

_"There's worse."_

_Remus scoffed, muffled by his jacket,_

_"Not for you."_

_Not answering, Sirius tried to think of something else. But all he could keep thinking was that he wished he were taller so that he could be the one comforting Remus instead of the other way around. At his current height he felt more akin to a parasite than a comfort. It had always been in his top five insecurities with Remus, who somehow become something of a tower in the seventh year. The other four were all about how Remus reacted to things, or how he came to understand things. Those were easy enough to overcome, because Remus made sure of his coherency. He couldn't shrink though, not in any practical manner, anyways._

_He turned Remus' face down to him suddenly, more roughly than he'd meant and backed off from the embrace a step. Remus didn't resist, his eyes searching Sirius' face for a clue. All he found was that Sirius was having difficulty saying what he wanted to._

_"Love you," Sirius muttered. He meant it. He just wished that it explained more than it begged. He always felt like he was breaking when Remus smiled back forgivingly; he never felt that he'd deserved such grace._


	13. Part Twelve

_His fingers moved slowly along Sirius' skin, his body underneath them resisting and giving way simultaneously. It was like melting without ever becoming one body, and then that frustration trying to compensate with kisses and abandon. One hand rested overtop Sirius' stomach, the other pausing momentarily over his throat before snaking behind into his thick dark hair. Sirius didn't watch, his eyes shut, focusing on the hot air between them and the chill air around them._

_Remus was nothing short of petrified. He had no idea what he was doing. His hands felt clumsy, he felt embarrassed by his body, and the only solstice he could take was that Sirius hadn't laughed at him and hadn't asked him to stop. Gathering the nerve, he pulled down the last piece of clothing between them._

_In truth, he'd thought about the actual deed for ages, but the execution? Any planning seemed to have omitted that small detail. He'd thought about what to say, what to do, but always wound up with small glimpses of a puzzle he didn't have the memory to finish. Overwhelmed, he tried to forget what he was doing with hands and looked at Sirius' face to gauge his performance. His chin was tipped back, his throat spread bare, a look of euphoria trying to overcome nervousness. He bit his nether lip now and then, gasped slightly and flicked his eyes open in surprise when he felt Remus reach behind him. Thankfully, he didn't catch Remus' eye, or see the flushed and frightened shame on his face. Apologetically he rushed his lips over Sirius', who responded forcefully, teeth slamming together from overeagerness and inexperience._

_"Don't stop," he ordered with stern breath as Remus felt their reluctant lips part with the reverberations of the collision. He nodded, surprised that he was not unnerved by Sirius' gray eyes boring into him. Still, he couldn't bear to watch the response to what happened next, and turned him over with more force than he intended, Sirius responding with more surrender than he anticipated that he would. He was unnerved at how much control he'd lost between the beginning of it all and now, and didn't ignore the urge to nip Sirius over the shoulder, resting his lips on the bare skin of Sirius' back for a moment. He went on, eyelids shutting violently at the gradual contact. He heard Sirius take a breath inwards roughly and groan as he tried to sort out pleasure and pain. He still wasn't asking for him to stop, but now Remus wasn't sure if he'd have been able to, the sound in him slowly dragging itself upwards to escape his mouth. The strain over his eyelids began to loosen, as his attention dissipated beyond his location and presence._

_To think I was not near to keep One vigil o'er thy bed_

_Later he would wonder, _"why Byron?".

_As quickly as it had happened, he came crashing down from the sampling of eternity, and saw that Sirius' knuckles had gone white from clutching at the pillow._

* * *

He woke, flushed, embarrassed and knew exactly what had happened; normally his dreams were in silence, more vivid in imagery than sound. That dream wasn't silent and didn't lack the usual distinctness in vision. Flustered, he threw back the blankets, afraid to stay still and have the obvious organ between his legs mock him. The washroom was beside him, all he had to do was get there, turn the tap, and drown himself in the freezing water from the drizzling showerhead.

"Nightmare?" the mirror asked in alarm.

He'd found the letter on the dresser after he'd returned to his room, his body frigid from the cold of the hasty shower. He didn't question how it'd gotten there, assuming that whoever it was who wanted to communicate with him must have known the precautions it would take. The sight of it was enough to turn his frozen skin into a more ruddy tone of anger, but when he recognized the handwriting to be that of Dumbledore himself, he felt himself perfectly livid. It didn't feel that it was rightfully so, but it didn't stop him from indulging in the irrational rage either.

The great irritations of the summoning and the manner in which it was conducted did little to appease Remus' mood, much to the notice of the other occupants of the manor. When questioned, he easily parried them away, asserting only that it was a personal matter and one he cared not to share because of its triviality. McInnis made the mistake for all of them by trying to procure information in a jesting manner. He was promptly given the cold shoulder and avoided for several days before receiving a lukewarm apology; he accepted, detecting the distress still in Remus, but remained affronted by the unnatural and imprudent manner.

He'd been summoned for an evaluation at St. Mungo's by an Order friendly doctor. The message was of course, worded in the gentlest way, but despite the discreet manner of it's speech, it was an easy thing to consume with bitter indelibility. The letter had come with a gift of immeasurable value however, staunching the hurt some; the smallest vial of collected phoenix tears. Even a drop mixed into a salve created a potent healing mixture. In apology, Tonks must have mentioned the aggravated state of his body. It was hardly enough to forgive her, but to deny its thoughtfulness would have been childish and rude, which he'd had enough of lately.

The evaluation was scheduled close to Christmas during the doctor's holiday so that it could be conducted clandestinely. With the Ministry's havoc in denying the return of Voldemort and mounting fear of Dumbledore and the Order, creatures such as himself were put under close surveillance, given that they could be found. Or so the letter told him, but it was all nothing they hadn't expected and in Remus' case, nothing he hadn't experienced before.

Despite the malcontent Remus was currently experiencing, he still kept his promise to Hati of teaching him to read and write. If there was one good thing to come of his surveillance of the manor, it was that Hati proved himself to be a dedicated student and the results were mounting to something nothing short of marvelous.

Entering the washroom to wash his hands of the spilt ink he'd carelessly knocked over while examining his writing and trying to distort it into Sirius', he hadn't expected someone to be foolhardy enough to be bathing without locking the door behind them. He let out a cry of surprise and turned to the shut door but it had already shut behind him heavily, forcing him into blathering apologies as he fumbled for the door knob.

"Oh, never mind, you prude, you can't see me through all these bubbles," Violet said steadily. Hesitantly turning, Remus caught sight of her bare shoulders barely visible above the foam for a moment before applying profound attention to the bath fixtures on the sink, despite her being correct in that he couldn't see anything indecent.

"Sorry, I just need to wash my hands," he stated plainly, turning the tap and consequently turning the sink a dark black.

"And your face. You've smudged it all over your forehead. And it's in your hair. What on earth were you doing?"

"I was helping Hati, but I knocked over the ink."

It wasn't entirely untrue. He had been distractedly continuing Hati's lesson for the evening as best as his attentions would allow him. Hati deserved better, he thought.

"Excellent work. My uncle always did that when he was writing. Once he spilled it all over his identifications for travel and for the most part he got it cleaned up, but when he tried to get into Romania, there was this massive smudge that made his face look like it had huge mole overtop his eye and then they didn't believe that it was him. They thought that he was a Belgian spy for two years."

Remus hummed a response, already tuning out the tale. He could see her in the mirror, passing her hands over the lightly over the bubbles, breaking a thin top layer. The fuzzy sound of the bubbles popping seemed louder than they should have been.

"Come, sit," she demanded, gesturing to the chair beside the tub. Her robes were carefully folded overtop, their deep navy devouring the soft lights that came from the twenty-odd candles she'd positioned around the bathroom. He didn't move towards her.

"Please, I'm not going to drag you in or anything, I promise. Let's chat."

Reluctantly Remus took a seat at her side, staring with determination at the door, now locked, and listened patiently. He didn't like the idea of being locking in a washroom with a nude woman who he knew was entirely incapable of telling the truth about anything.

"So how are you?"

"Fine.

"Liar. You haven't been getting angry with us, not like normal people, but you get this look on your face that says you'd wish to be anywhere but where you are."

Remus' found himself glaring at her, affronted. He'd expected her to look proud for her cleverness, or frightened at his reaction. She didn't. Her face had gone to stone, a volte-face from her usual animation. There was nothing for him to say, but he nodded in the slightest and relaxed the vexation clouding his vision. Seeing him relax again, she returned to fidgeting with the bubbles in the water. She didn't seem herself, some serenity seemed to have settled over her, afforded perhaps by the vulnerability of her bare body. He studied her face looking for some clue of intent. Her dark hair boldly framed her face, the usual wildness dampened by the water, looking sleek.

With her gray eyes, he thought of how he hated that he could find Sirius in every person he saw.

"I can hear you sometimes at night, you know."

Remus felt the flush cover his face corrosively, thinking of the morning and his early arctic shower. Maybe the dim lighting didn't betray him though. Maybe he didn't even make _those_ noises in his sleep. He should have asked the mirror.

"I mean, I can't hear you say anything clearly, it's sort of like it's all backwards, but I can hear you. You don't sleep well. Why is that?"

"Dreams."

"About what?"

"I'd rather not tell you. It's something I'm trying to forget."

"Probably better not too."

She began to stand up from the water; and Remus groaned and nearly snapped his neck to stare at the ceiling. There was some water damage in the corner, discolouring and making the paint distort.

"Do you mind?" He asked incredulously.

"Oh nevermind, it's not like you're interested anyways. Move, I need my robes."

"I do mind, thank you very much," Remus informed, hastily vacating the chair with closed eyes.

"I meant that you think of my body in a purely clinical way. Pass me a towel, will you? No, up a shelf. If you had your eyes open it'd be easier."

Remus found the towels without opening his eyes and thrust out his arm for her to retrieve it.

"I'm leaving."

"Hang on...okay, I'm covered now, if it should please you."

"What do you want?" Remus asked irritably. This wasn't something he needed. He wondered why he wasn't simply storming out as he should be. But then, he was always aware of what he should be doing, what any normal person would do, and marveled that he never tapped into the reaction enough to actually follow through on it.

"Dunno, to help I guess. You aren't the only one who has things that no one else will understand."

Remus frowned and waited for her to go on. She seemed hesitant for a moment, but tapped her chest just underneath her collarbone. This wasn't all about him, he realized. How poignant.

"Do you know what they do in France, to people like us?"

"...I've heard rumours."

This wasn't what he needed, he thought again, but the uncommon stillness of Violet's face forced him to stay.

"The village people, the ones out in the middle of nowhere, they still have ridiculous ideas about us and the government hasn't ever been to keen on us over there. They think that we prey intentionally on them, that we're demons of some sort. I suppose that it makes sense. When England had their witch-hunts, the French had hunts for the werewolves, the east for vampires. I guess we've always had the raw end of the deal. But they aren't over that. It's hard to believe, but there are people who still think that we sold our souls to the devil or something. Anyways, I was working in France a few years ago with my mother as a medium. We kept it secret for a long time, the lycanthropy, but I told someone. I thought that I could trust her. But she was a Muggle and her knowing that I was witch was astounding enough...but a werewolf? There'd been some wolves in the area at the time and they'd been getting at the chickens and cattle. The farmers weren't happy. She immediately accused me. We didn't talk after that, and then a few months later someone was daft enough to turn their back on a wolf and get cornered. It was a lone wolf; he was hungry. The man survived but the girl told everyone about me. We thought that no one would believe her, but the wolves...they were starving and it kept getting worse. Gossip and fear goes a long way. They took me away while my mother was out. They took me to a barn, some of the men. They were wizards. You know the laws in France. They aren't in favour of us. They slit me from here...to here. The scar runs all up my torso. It's why I wear high collars...my mother heard what had happened and found me. She took me back to London. I barely made it through the moon. You know what they were looking for? The fur on the inside, that's what they said. Werewolves wear their fur on the inside. That's what they said."

Remus had felt his body relax as she'd told her story, relating in some ways, confounded in others. He had nothing to say and the silence grew emptier that longer that he didn't.

"You know, I hope that Voldemort wins this war. I want to be treated like everyone else. Even if it means everyone else has to be treated worse. At least for the majority, we'd be equal."

Remus drew the line of his mouth thin. It was clear now where Violet stood, in any case. His sympathy hadn't worn thin, he wasn't astonished by her anger. It wasn't so uncommon and he couldn't judge it for fear of hypocrisy.

"Is that really how you feel?"

He hoped that it wasn't.

"I hate wizards, Remus," Violet said. She said it impassively, as fact without exaggeration, "they've never protected me for what I am even though I had nothing to do with becoming it."

"...why are you telling me this?"

He didn't like that she didn't just answer straight away. The situation had gone from ludicrous to dangerous. His hand had fallen onto his wand, ready to draw and disarm her. It probably wouldn't be necessary, but it was better to be prepared than negligent. Calmly, she rested a hand over the tucked in bit of the towel.

"So maybe you'd tell me why someone is following you."

* * *

_"Why is it that we always end up finding each other again?" Sirius asked wistfully, laying down into the clean dew of the grass beside him. He smelt of dog._

_"It can't be healthy."_

* * *

For a moment he'd panicked, not understanding what she meant. When he didn't answer, she pressed again. Who's following you? Hearing the question a second time he thought of Sirius. Which defied logic, but seemed to fit her question more appropriately. He'd probed though, asking her what she meant. She told him that she knew, but after she'd seen the brand of his anger, she explained herself more clearly. There's a spirit. He denied it. _I don't know what you're talking about._ She called him a liar, he left knowing that he was.

He'd been ambushed, that's how it felt. First the dream in the morning (he felt his face flush), then the letter and then Violet in the evening. It was laughable; he laughed, feeling his throat unhinge the sound to compensate for the pressure in his skull. Maybe they should have scheduled the evaluation for sooner. Was this the same feeling he had when he went and obliterated his memory? It didn't seem like such a bad idea, escapist, yes, but in bad taste? It was definitely enticing. It was definitely out of the question. He passed his hand over his face, resting his fingers on his temples. He was here for a reason. This wasn't it.

"Rough day?" the mirror asked. He reached down onto the stone floor and grabbed his shoe, tossing it roughly at the dusty glass. The mirror screeched and for a moment he was reminded of the portrait of Sirius' mother and how it would wail and convulse with bits of spit dripping from her mouth, eyes rolling as though she were in a seizure. He frowned into a laugh, imagining what might happen if you tossed a shoe at her. Probably nothing of much difference. Foul old bitch. Foul old place. He slid his hand from his temples down to his throat, thinking of Violets story. _Fur on the inside._

He didn't know if she was lying. Despite the corresponding evidence writ on her body, it was no small fact that she was impulsive towards deceit. There were differences in the manner of her storytelling this time however. Whereas many of her stories were concocted to confuse in their absurdity, this one had been delivered with heart and with complexities beyond her usual ramblings. Not only that, but it'd been about her, not a relative or a friend or a stranger. It was the first time that he'd heard her so extensively use the first person. Even so, knowing for certain that she supported Voldemort, was enough to question her, but the suspicion rose in her hints that she knew something about him that he'd told absolutely no one.

Passing over the interactions he'd had with her eased the pressure to a dull throb in his mind. He could find nothing that would have revealed himself to her; he'd been careful. Nonetheless, he ran through his residence at the manor several more times and until he passed a judgement-she couldn't know. Unless someone had revealed him, she couldn't know. It was a dangerous decision he realized as he began entertaining the idea of Sirius' spirit following him. The concept of Carpe Diem that may have persuaded him before to trust her and go to question her about this spirit had worn thin. He didn't believe it anymore, didn't realize that he had at some time. Because of it's translucency, it didn't serve as a tool of persuasion anymore. Unfortunately, all he was left with without it was a reckless intent which his better mind had nothing to battle with against. Reckless was worse than seizing the day; it was instead groping at the air and hoping that something landing into your palms.

He half stood but fell back onto the mattress. Standing, he reached into his pocket and seized the quill, ink and parchment. Reaching over to the dresser he tried to write down a map of his thinking, trying to bring a visual of the best course. It wasn't long before it was a mess.

With no space left on the parchment he looked it over and spied something that was not his own.

_Sleep on it._

* * *

_"No, probably not," Remus agreed, enjoying the chill feeling of the ground seeping through his clothes and dampen them._

_"I don't really mind though; you?"_

_"Of course not."_

_Remus moved his arm between them, tentatively reaching for Sirius' hand, something that felt out of place for having not been done for so long. Feeling Remus' fingers inside his palm, Sirius' seized his hand firmly in good spirit. His mouth twitched in an equally as hesitant smile. This was good. This was better than good. Even if Sirius did smell of dog from the knee length wet grass he'd been loping around in earlier, which wasn't that unusual anyways._

_"I'm glad you came here, I know it's not the most functional of hiding places," Sirius said softly, lifting their hands and putting them over his chest, "truly. I was worried that...you wouldn't since it's been so long. Thank-you."_

_Remus felt his stomach squirm at the unfamiliar formality of the declaration. He didn't realize the time that passed between what Sirius said and the time where he should have responded had expired. Letting go of his hand, Sirius flipped over top him and scrutinized him. Remus was struck at the uncertainty swimming in his gray eyes._

_"Sorry. It's been a long time," he admitted, defeated. They still hadn't settled into their old patterns, there were things that still had to be communicated with words. It was hard to look at the time that had passed over Sirius' face; but it was still Sirius. He wasn't so vain. He wondered what it was like for Sirius to look at him; the wrinkles, the graying hair, the diminished body. But still, he could feel more like himself with him and gave a kiss as apology. That still felt the same._


	14. Part Thirteen

There was one moon till the holidays. McInnis' birthday fell on the night after the full moon, so the celebration was moved to the night before and Remus had been recruited to hang streamers. He'd tried to twist them so that they'd appear double-sided and multicoloured, but he quickly found that his hands produced streamer effects just as poorly as he mixed potions.

"Oh come on now, never mind that, it looks fine," McInnis said, clapping a hand onto Remus' back heartily. It caused him to jerk forwards slightly, and he started with the surprise to top it off. Grimacing, Remus regained his balance and took a pin from between his lips to spear the audicious blue and green paper to the wall. McInnis grinned at the haphazard furls of colour, resting of his cane comfortably. He honestly didn't care what his party looked like, Remus thought warmly.

"Why such a celebration?" he asked, curious. McInnis had insisted that his birthday party be a full scale lurch into a night complete with dinner, drinking, music and dancing.

"Why not? McInnis shrugged, "Might as well. I haven't had a party like this in ages, it felt like it was time to throw another."

Remus chuckled; it was reason enough.

"This will be fun," he beamed, lifting his cane into the air to drape a line of streamer over the corner of the bookcase to keep it clear of the door. It was impossible to escape his jovial manner, Remus returning the expression in his more subdued but nonetheless genuine fashion. It wasn't only the tone of the coming evening colouring the manor however, but the absence of Hati and Skoll. Abbatia informed him that she did not know the reason for their sudden departure, but he'd shared a mutual feeling that whatever the reason, it was likely more ominous than any of them would like to imagine. For now though, he understood the eagerness of the occupants to engage themselves fully in McInnis' party.

"I read your books," Remus offered conversationally, enjoying the company. McInnis' demeanor violently changed,

"What!"

Remus tilted his head, confused, "I found them in Abbatia's library."

"She kept them _there?"_

Nodding, Remus began to sense the source of his alarm. The copies had been signed more as billets doux than gifts between friends. He hadn't noticed at the time. He struggled to surpress a smile, briefly wiping at his nose with his thumb to cover his mouth. _Oh, God no, that'd be like kissing your sister; your younger, somehow frightening, compulsively orderly, sister_; his first instinct had been the right one.

Remus observed placidly as McInnis recomposed himself.

"Never mind," he concluded, gesturing dismissively with one hand. Remus repressed any commentary on the basis that it would only have been for his own amusement. He knew people better professed in such areas and would leave that manner of interogation to them.

"So," McInnis said, redirecting, "You seem back to your usual self."

"And what's that?"

"You know...British. Maybe repressed. Maybe polite, likes to have a little joke now and then in spite of yourself. Conversationally, you've improved a tenfold over the last week."

McInnis was grinning.

"A condition of my upbringing, I'm sure."

"Is that so?"

"We were a quiet, maybe repressed, maybe polite lot, who enjoyed a little joke now and then."

Thinking on his family, he thought that that was likely the most appropriate way to describe their function. His parents had been mild, their faces often more impassive, emotion only detected by a practiced eye, and with jokes only detectable if you could listen past the manner used to say it. He couldn't imagine, and had never been told what it was that his father said to so deeply to offend Fenrir Greyback, but the very notion of it seemed contrary to his personality. It'd probably been a mistake, and something done in writing. It'd probably been something to do with legislation. Given the nature of the punishment, it'd didn't leave much room for imagination. Briefly, Remus hoped that he was doing right by his father, being here, working for the Order, proving that not all werewolves were vicious, mindless, hate consumed monstrosities, excetera; which he felt like on occasion anyways.

It wasn't long before Remus was roped into setting the tables, carefully avoiding Rose and David who'd taken to playing tag, excited by the commotion in the manor.

Violet lurked. He refused to acknowledge her, allowing her to exist in his periphreals, Moody's refrains of warning echoing through his head everytime the last foreboding began to drift off. But it didn't change that she simply _lurked_, making no move one way or the other. She likely didn't want to have a go at his jugular, but it was made to feel as though she'd spring from the shadows at any given moment. Thinking on /that, he was aware that without Skoll in the vicinity, it was easier to focus on just how much contempt was in the air towards him. He'd of course known about it, having made reports on the reactions to his presence, but without the one obvious focal point, the suspicion seemed to fester all around him. Truthfully however, the only thing unusual about it was that it was from people who were also infected with lycanthropy. The politics weren't the standard ones, but it was the same story in a different setting. It still made him feel like a caged animal.

More than half, he thought. Broken down to numbers, more than half of the wolves in the manor would take a attempt out on his life if it meant an in with the Dark Lord. From most of the occupants sharing dinner together, it was easy to gather who hinted without asking that they'd be ready for any order if the Dark Lord should wish it. There was a small fraction who were muggles, and therefore had little to do with the magical world except that they were registered as werewolves; they often took no side, not understanding the full scope of the threat. Remus was careful to leave his assumptions open to change, for both sides. He was sure of no one's support against Voldemort, but placed careful trust in McInnis, who kept up with wizarding politics despite being a muggle; Abbatia, who seemed most concerned about protecting her tenants even if meant protecting them from themselves or that they did not know it; and Juliana, though involving her in anything would put Rose and David at risk, she being their prime caretaker.

There was too, Hati to take into consideration. He was a simpleton, but from the experiences Remus had gathered, even simpletons could make good. A person did not need to be intelligent to be of a good sort. As Hati learned to read and write, he seemed fascinated by the stories, eagerly working and carefully concealing his fancied bewilderment of fiction from Skoll. Remus didn't relish knowing, but he knew that he could have Hati do whatever he asked of him.

Set on the table was a feast comparable to the feasts at Hogwarts. Scalloped potatoes, an enormous roast, haggis (espicially requested, though expected by many of homelanded residents), a huge array of vegetables, haddock, yorkshire puddings, stovied tatties, scones, oatcakes, and when glancing off to the kitchen a multi-layered chocolate cake of impressive proportion. They'd been cooking in the kitchen all day, chasing off the curious or putting them to work. Now that it was finished, everyone waited eagerly to begin dinner, the conversation lighter than it had been since Remus had arrived.

"A few words," McInnis said, standing carefully from his seat and knocking at a glass of whiskey. The table quietened and looked towards him expectantly. Juliana was hushing Rose and her remonstrations on the more traditional Scottish foods.

"A few words," he repeated. Remus leaned back in his chair, feeling his neck going stiff from being so close. McInnis, smiled appreciatively around the table.

"As a writer, you'd probably think that I'd have something artistic or poignant to tell you. But I have no anecdotes, and I have no fictional stories to suit this occasion. What I do have, is my thanks. I thank you all, for living here under this roof in one piece, working together as best we can despite the differences we've learned of each other, and sitting here, at this table, enjoying each other's company. I'd be surprised to find one person at this table who would disagree that we're having a ruddy good evening."

Toasts went up in agreement.

"In all, we've come together under a common condition, but for my part, I've stayed for the good company and bonds I've made among each of you. So; thank-you, and a toast to the wonderful Juliana and her helpers!"

McInnis took his seat, and a round of clinking glasses was heard down the table. Leaning into Remus, he spoke quietly into his ear,

"I meant most of that."

Laughing, Remus reached out to take the dish of potatoes nearest to him.

* * *

_Sirius stormed in and tossed himself backwards, sprawling out on his bed, tie undone, hair mussed and overall looking like a perfect mess. A mess that had "James Potter" scrawled all over it._

_"My perfectly sculpted mouth is once again invigorated into argument with the oh so treachously infatuated James Potter."_

_Right on the Galleon, Remus thought, bemused._

_"Oh, but your perfectly sculpted mouth serves no better purpose than speaking of nothing. What a terrible waste- he's not going to listen, it's better if you just let him be."_

_"Hush, Moony, he doesn't know any better," Sirius said, tossing up an brief indignant glance and he pulled off his socks in the most impractical way he could devise._

_"And you do?"_

_"_Hush._ He doesn't know what's good for him. Nothing against Evans, just to be clear, but let's face it, she hates him and we have to suffer for it."_

_"She loathes, abhors, detests..."_

_"Yes, thank-you the Moony edition of Limpauld's Thesaurus. Anyways, you know what she just did?"_

_"What did she just do?" Remus entertained, rumaging for a jumper._

_"She, conniving beast woman that she is, took the whole bowl of pudding, and dumped it on him. I think he's trying to drown himself in the washroom now, though personally, I think it would have been better to just stay on the floor and drown in the pudding. Those bowls are /not/ small."_

_"The Hallowe'en feast is always such an exciting endeavour."_

_"Indeed. Anyways, once she left, he took a hit at me," Sirius said, sitting up, and tossing the balled up socks at Remus, hitting his back. Remus turned around, jumper in hand and frowned, moving closer to examine the large bruise swelling and turning a distasteful angry colour on the side of his face._

_"What on earth did you to get that?" Remus said, moving Sirius' face gently to get a better view in the dim light. Sirius swatted his hand away, a look of dramatic distress taking his face,_

_"So we're assuming that it's my fault?"_

_Remus rolled his eyes to say, _who else?

_"Fine, I might have said something somewhat demeaning and James may have somewhat agreed without somewhat knowing what he was agreeing too. And it may have been somewhat premeditated."_

_Pulling the jumper over his head, Remus hummed a _just-as-I-thought._ Once the burgundy wool was pulled into it's functional position, Remus was greeted by a guilty frown._

_"I...somewhat deserved this one."_

_The submission for guilt was unusual, Remus thought. No one could deny that James often set himself up to be taken advantage of by Sirius, a fact that Sirius exploited for all it's worth, a fact that James knew full well too but was always poorly gaurded against. Of course, Sirius didn't have to leap in head first to every opportunity that came up, so in the end, the guilt still laid with him, but to admit it...that was most unusual._

_Sirius looked searchingly for consolation from Remus, lower lip pushed out in a pout. Perfectly sculpted indeed. Flustered, Remus turned and hurriedly moved himself away from Sirius, brushing off his own opportunity._

* * *

The tables had been pushed off to the walls, music playing out of a muggle stereo. Much of the whiskey and Guinness had been run through, the party taking on a louder festive decible of celebration and loose amblings along the floor, ahead and behind the music. Remus was content to watch, Abbatia joining him after a clumsy dance with McInnis. She seemed at ease, also caught in the atmosphere.

They chatted amiably, but once he saw her carefully look over the dining hall, he knew that she had a matter to speak of.

"Follow me in two minutes," she said evenly. Nodding, Remus waited for her to leave, waited a customary space of time, and then went out to the crypt into her office. She waited patiently and he could smell a similar scent of a bitter potion simmering from the cabinet.

"They're bringing captives for the next moon."

Remus felt his heart drop out.

"Between ten and fifteen, some children. They'll set us loose on them; you're taking the Wolfsbane and you'll run off from the scene."

Coughing, Remus cleared his throat, searching for his voice.

"How do you know?"

"Hati told me, sent me a note by owl this afternoon."

Remus examined her face closely. He didn't discover any tells or ulterior motive. He felt a glow of pride at Hati's action, and silently thanked his bravery.

"It's only for me?" he asked carefully, looking towards the old worn cabinet. Only the handles were new, complete with a heavy lock.

"It'd be too much of coincedence if it were all of us. You're the newest among us, so it's excusable if you aren't found with us in the morning. I know that you're not here without an agenda. You're involved with Dumbledore, aren't you?"

There was no lie that he could make that she would believe and no reason to make one; he conceded.

"I thought so. Good. I need you; you're a better bet for keeping these people safe than the Dark Lord is. So many of them are just...too young. They don't understand what it means to side with the Dark Lord. How could they? They were just children the last time...Richard knows and Henry at the pub knows to regard you as my equal."

"Henry?" Remus asked, thinking back to the elderly, benevolent man McInnis had introduced him to when he first arrived.

"He's my uncle; a muggle, but he's helped with the upkeep of the manor since my husband died."

"I'm sorry."

She raised a hand to prevent his sympathy from going further as if to indicate the it was of no matter, but it more knocked it back to echo in him. But she turned her back to him, and observed the Wolfsbane potion in the cabinet. He was overwhelmed with the feeling of mutuality in the office, a hand going up to the back of his neck in a desperate need to occupy his hands. Dealing with his own grief was one thing, but to feel it replicated in another person was a seperate matter entirely.

"We'd better go back," Remus said, offering an escape from the awkward moment. Abbatia nodded, Remus following behind in a careful measure of time once again.

With no disrespect to the authenticity of Abbatia's well-meaning, Remus delicately conducted some background investigation on Abbatia. He thought to ask ask McInnis, naturally, but knowing now of his attraction to the woman, he refrained for the time being, afraid to result in only evoking indignation. Instead, he settled on soliciting Juliana, who'd been at the manor longer than McInnis, from what he could gather.

She was much more pliant than he could have hoped for, suspecting nothing of his inquiries towards Abbatia. He suspected that he'd won some measure of respect from her. Her loyalty to Rose and David was only matched by her loyalty to Abbatia.

Carefully, she explained the tale, in a manner that ensured she would not have to repeat herself. From what she knew, because no one knew the full story, not even Abbatia, was the Fenrir had come to the manor, making demands to bring his wolves there. Fenrir's wolves were different, vicious, and wanted the manor because it's location, being near both the school and Hogsmeade. Her husband had refused, his alturism disallowing the demands flat out. From then and for several moons, he continued to resist. One morning, they found his body on the drive, missing pieces, and that afternoon Hati and Skoll took up residence. It was a message savagely typical of the wolf, Remus knew. Because of the spells on the manor, Fenrir couldn't and couldn't to this day force his way into the residence physically and couldn't claim it without it being signed over to him. Otherwise, the location would be a useless, the Ministry would know immediately. Abbatia took full ownership after her husband died. Now, Hati and Skoll serve as watchdogs, and if Abbatia refuses to comply, they were given orders to pick off the other occupants. With that over her head, they didn't require that Abbatia sign a will, but it still gave Fenrir, and subsequently You Know Who, a permanent hand in their affairs.

As Remus thought Hati incapable of murder, he sensed that he was becoming overly attached. Mentally taking a step back, he factored in the suspected murder and it seemed to give a solid enough motive that backed up Abbatia's sincerity and intentions. He hadn't doubted her in his heart, but confirmation was of precedence. With the knowledge came a deeper rooting of gratitude for what she was risking for him. Fenrir didn't believe in using the Wolfsbane potion, encouraging that werewolves "embrace their true nature". But it remained unjustifiable to Remus that he should be the only one excluded from Fenrir's upcoming scheme. He shivered at the thought. His life as a werewolf had been one without infecting others, but the many near misses brought into a clear enough perception to make him certain that he did not trust himself to live with that guilt.

He couldn't even begin to imagine how it was for Abbatia.

* * *

_Remus felt his throat constrict._

_"Were there others?" Sirius asked again resolutely. Remus didn't want to answer. His answer didn't seem relevent, he couldn't predict what reaction his answer would bring. He could assume that it'd bring the worst, and judging by the rigid posture Sirius had taken, it probably would._

_He'd taken to long; the only option left was the truth._

_"Yes," Remus admitted softly. He could tell him that they didn't mean anything, but that wouldn't have been true. He'd done his best not to compare and had learned to love in other ways._

_"Good."_

_The answer blindsided him better than the question had._

_"Good?"_

_"Yes. It wouldn't have been fair if you hadn't."_

_"I think you're the one who didn't get the fair treatment," Remus said, frowning. Acceptance, was the last thing he'd expected. It would have been better if Sirius had reacted more badly. It would have been _him_. This wasn't._

_"That doesn't mean that you should have punished yourself for it. For what you knew, I was still the spy. Until last year, you had no idea. Not exactly a memory I'd expect you to cherish for twelve years."_

_Hesitantly, Remus nodded in agreement, waiting for the trap to spring. The quiet moved on a little longer before Sirius made to speak again,_

_"...tell me about them."_

_Shifting uncomfortably, Remus nodded, indicating his compliance._


	15. Part Fourteen

**Telling what you know won't help.**

**- bottom dresser drawer**

* * *

"Good morning, please take a seat," the woman said rigidly. It didn't do much in the manners of comfort. She was, if not as equally as intimidating as Remus knew McGonagall to be, this woman possessed something very similar to the same severe mannerisms that the professor had. The fabrics of her robes seemed to be streamlined for the absolute projection of efficiency. Carefully, Remus took a seat, feeling sloppy in his own appearance, a sensation that he also felt around McGonagall. James and Sirius had always made fun of how he dressed and held himself, but when he came across people like this --Elsia Stipps, the name said on the desk -- he felt a vague sense of relief that there was proof that he wasn't the worse. Although, he wasn't sure what called for the teasing, seeing as he usually eventually did what they wanted, which had always seemed proof enough that appearance wasn't defining. He coughed, blushing over some memory about Sirius and looked over the room.

Everything in the small office was in it's place. He could tell by the continued theme of impeccably straight lines and well-dusted surfaces; there was no doubt that it was spotless. The patch on his right sleeve seemed to mar the room with a great insult, breaking all the superfluous presence of the lines. As he perused the room, he imagined her watching him, hawk-like, narrowing her eyes and looking down at him over her large nose, as though it were a targeting device. When his eyes settled back to her as she sat in the chair opposite to him he saw that her back was also a straight line, so perfect that it seemed to be supported by iron.

"You know why you're here; I don't," she stated curtly. Remus nodded and vaguely wondered if this is how these things went normally. He didn't know what he'd expected, but he felt under prepared. Usually, all he was required to do was to fill out mountains of forms, be it for the constantly updated register of werewolves (which he'd missed actually missed in the last few months but someone from the Order had filled out for him as not to arouse suspicion from the Ministry), applications for jobs he wouldn't get, or questions at St. Mungo's which he'd occasionally had to pull himself over to. She looked at him with severe expectation. He cleared his throat.

"There are people concerned for me," he offered. Thinking back on the morning's note he couldn't believe that he was so receptively following it's advice._Telling what you know won't help. _In theory, it was his own advice, but given the recent states of his mind, that didn't stop it from being damaging; so he was like everyone else he knew. He just had the notes to prove it. _Let's not delve into the faultiness of that reasoning, _he marvelled. Surrendering detailed information _was_ out of the question however. Explaining that you allegedly had the entity of a former loved one following you was decidedly _not_ a good tool for convincing others that you were well of mind. Telling them further that you didn't entirely disbelieve in the notion was an even worse tool.

"And why is this?"

"It seems that I grieve badly."

"How do you 'grieve badly'?"

Remus frowned, suddenly feeling very unapologetic for the way his form and clothes disrupted the flow of lines in the room,

"I couldn't perform magic for a short period of time, I was a burden upon others, I didn't and don't talk to others about how I feel."

The best way to lie was to tell similar truths.

"How do you feel?"

Remus glanced at the perfectly papered walls, and wondered that if he swore they might curl back, writhing in pain to expose the material underneath.

"I don't."

"Could you please elaborate?"

"It's inconsequential. How can I elaborate on something that I can't describe?"

"It is not inconsequential to this examination."

Remus wanted to toss his head back and scream, feeling short on his temper. He was _functioning, _wasn't that enough for everyone? This woman, he was certain, was a puppet magicked into asking inane questions that actually only rephrased answers into further questions. It was an easy trick, he knew it to; he knew that it worked. Nonetheless, he could have answered these better with form with boxes to tick off.

"My _closest, _oldest friend died last summer," he said, using his words like a blunt assault. He watched for a reaction. Could she relate? Sirius would have done something immature at the sounding of "closest, dearest friend" instead of "lover", "partner", or, "the-greatest-lover-known-to-mankind" or some other variation he'd insisted on over the years. The thought made Remus feel delirious and he swallowed a laugh, which he hoped looked like something pained and a notable enough confirmation to the _anguish _that everyone was looking for in the examination.

"How did they die?"

"Combat," Remus answered shortly, disappointed that he didn't see any of the features in the woman soften. Combat, veil, red light, not green, alive, missing, not done laughing, falling, gone.

"I couldn't get to him quickly enough," he admitted distantly. The room seemed to be peeling away even though he hadn't admitted a profane word into it,

"There was nothing I could do."

* * *

_**Are delusions still possible even after you've defined that you've had them?**_

_**- suitcase pocket**_

* * *

A record store; he'd converted needed the familiar walls that didn't peel or extract confessions. Instead, they were covered with posters more aged than he was (an increasingly irking thought) and new posters of faces he couldn't recognize (already and irksome thought). The smell of old dusty vinyl that had been brought up from basements was comforting and the music over the stereo system reminded him that he was himself and that he was indeed in his own body reassured him that at least here, everything was alright. It was his body, because he knew that he _wanted_ to move to the sound, his mind because he _wanted_ to listen to something. Want had always done a marvellous job in reminding himself of who he was, knowing that even if other people wanted the same things as him, he wanted them in a different way.

The remainder of the session had focused in on the recurring dreams. Given that vein, he'd been able to avoid to go into the mention of the notes he'd been finding, and in all likelihood when looking for a logical explanation, that he was also responsible for writing. A whole wealth of satisfactory pain and suffering that lived in his dreams sufficiently parried off any further investigation into his mind. In all, the dreams had made as a good deterrent, nearly making their harassment forgivable.

"No matter," he muttered into the dusty coverings of the old vinyl, feeling the relief from the examination was over now that he was a good distance away from it. He'd looked through the collections many times over the years, with and without Sirius, whenever he could afford it. There were several milk crates of records at Grimmauld Place, he remembered each one of them by heart, but couldn't gather up the nerves to go back there. He didn't have enough money for anything right now, but it was enough to be in the shop. He didn't even have the gold to buy Harry a gift this year, never mind a record. He did miss playing records though; there was either the Wizarding Wireless or the Muggle stereo at the manor, neither of which were prone to play anything he found favourable.

Remus felt a chill; _the manor_. What Abbatia had told him had weighed much heavier than any personal conflictions he'd been having about telling the truth throughout his examination. He took it as a good sign; moving on, being able to focus on things outside of himself; being able to care about others again. It even bothered him more than the notes had. The notes were static; they didn't jar him into self-loathing and mourning as they had before. Now they seemed more like notations on a film that he was a part of. A part of, but not a star of, a role he was much more attune to.

He was trying not to choke on his laughter as he went over the thought again. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe it didn't matter. Whatever it was, some hinges were getting loose, and no one who could appreciate it was there to see it. _Loony loopy Lupin. _This return to London wasn't doing much in the ways of maintaining the sanity he was supposed to have had examined.

"Escaping the pestering of my mother?"

Remus eyes flicked down to a heavily freckled arm retreating from the albums where hands had started to look through albums as he turned inwards to the hand on his shoulder.

"She's totally mad, y'know? Went chasing after me with scissors again this morning."

"She tried that with me last night," Remus answered, indicated at his own hair which he'd tied back while taking in the long, violently red hair and heavy black frock coat slung over the man's shoulders. He had the feeling of doing too much at once, bumping Bill by accident before he could take step back. He'd become enviable of Bill's casual grace as he'd grown, thinking that it was unfair because of how gangly and uncoordinated he'd been as a boy.

"How are you?" Remus asked, smiling warmly, feelings of envy only coming in passing.

"Good; you?"

"Fine."

All things considered, he added silently. Bill eyed him for a moment, examining him in the way Remus had come to associate with any time he spent in London. This was often because they hadn't seen him for months, _years,_ at a time and had forgotten that he always looked a bit bedraggled and that the only difference was that he always looked a bit older than most people his age because of his lycanthropy.

"Are you here with Fleur?" Remus asked, putting an end to the study.

"Yeah, Mum's not too happy about it, so that's a bonus. Are you here with Tonks?"

Remus stiffened. He hadn't heard anything about Tonks going to the Burrow as well. Bill frowned and groaned.

"Er…sorry, it's just that Mum gave the impression that you two were…well," Bill made a gesture of dismissal, "never mind. Apparently not, after what happened with Sirius."

Remus tried to retain his composure and not gape.

"How'd you--"

Bill shot him a meaningful look, a slight flush taking to his entire face, a trait that ran in the family. Remus didn't press further, taking it that he didn't want to know any further details on that topic.

"All of us older ones know," Bill admitted after clearing his throat, "The other two are too thick to notice, but I'd watch out for Ginny, if it's all supposed to be hush-hush. She'll start asking questions if you look at a picture too long or something. But I wouldn't worry about Ron. Ever."

"Well, that's nice to know," Remus commented dryly. Bill only shrugged indicating that he didn't give it too much thought, and hopefully that he hadn't spread it around either. If there was one subject that Remus found consistently dull, it was who was doing what with whom, even when one of the who's was him.

Bill quickly settled on an album, a band called "Sonic Youth" that Remus had heard of at some point, and soon they were heading back to Diagon Alley to get to the Floo Network. Like himself, Bill seemed to prefer walking if it was within reason. Conversationally, they talked about Molly, Remus easy to laugh along with Bill's commentary, which would have sounded scathing to anyone who didn't realize that he was her son.

But then someone caught his eye, and he'd faltered in step, turning to keep his eye on Sirius as he tried to figure out why he was there, or why he was seeing him, or if he was seeing him at all. In conclusion; the confusion didn't take long to burst out into the rest of the world.

He hadn't expected the window to burst overtop them, or for Bill to drag him face down into the concrete to avoid it. A woman screeched loudly and sounded strangled as she tried to breath in, and once it'd all fallen, Remus could see a large shard embedded in her calf, having easily torn through her pant leg. The blood pooled quickly, and though the initial sound she'd made had punctured the air like a needle punctured a balloon, she was now clamping her teeth and screwing up her eyes in silence. The crowd began to clamour, and Bill and him looked at one another, sensing magic in the air; this was trouble and they waited a moment, sick with anticipation of what could break out, in broad daylight, in a Muggle street without back-up next. The moment passed and nothing happened.

There were too many people with nothing to offer crowding the woman, and Bill growled, pushing past, shouting for someone to call and ambulance and talking to the woman to distract her.

In a daze still, Remus looked upwards as though expecting to see Sirius looking down at him from the burst out window. There was no one there, but in his ear he heard a voice barely above a whisper;

"Remus, something's gone wrong."

* * *

"_It's nice out today," Sirius said dully. Remus quietly agreed and joined him at the window. Each leaned against an opposing frame, they must have looked like a very sympathetic portrait of Sirius' exile, Remus thought. Buckbeak pawed at the floorboards and settled, watching them with his dark glassy eyes. It was nearly time for his meal._

_The usual quiet covered the room. Remus had gotten used to the death parlour silence of Grimmauld Place, but he knew Sirius would agree if he said that it was never comfortable. He also knew that it was a good place to hide though, and if he said anything ill of it, Sirius would convince him that they should go somewhere else, which was at current, out of the question. But maybe one day. Until then, it was better not draw attention to it at all._

_It _was_ a very nice day out._

"_Remus," Sirius began. Remus could already guess what he would lead in to,_

"…_we could go out."_

_Remus refused to look at him, protecting his resolve._

"_No," he said shortly, "it's not a good idea."_

Damn,_ Remus thought. He should have just said a flat-out "no". It'd be harder now._

"_Of course not," Sirius said, now grinning widely, too excited, "that's part of why it'll be fun."_

_In addition to sounding much younger, looked much younger with his eyes lit up like that. However, even as it made him more handsome, Remus felt himself uttering no again. Only now he couldn't look away, wanting to say yes and knowing that Sirius knew that._

"_I'll even let you put a leash on me," he said offered wickedly, pushing himself off the ledge to lean into him. Remus tried not to move, pretending that he wasn't interested in the advance. He bit his lip as Sirius slipped a leg between his thighs, pressing hard and moving upwards._

"_Please," Sirius urged, hands pushing Remus off the frame and sliding him over to the wall with playful force. It reminded Remus that it was all an act, and he came close enough to his senses so that he could hear what they were telling him to do and pushed the smaller man off him defensively and began to leave._

"_No."_

_Only a step back, Sirius' face was unreadable._

"_No, of course not. Well, admit at least that you almost went for it?" he tried._

_Sirius was doing his best to stay in good humour, but his attempt at a smile twisted his mouth into something unnatural. Remus wasn't sure how much longer Sirius would be able to stand it, wondering how long it would be until he tried something, anything, in an attempt to feel like a free man, even for a short moment. It'd be short-lived, but it was obvious that Sirius would think that it was worth it; it was exactly the sort of thing he'd always done, and if all that kept him in Grimmauld Place was will power, Remus was certain that if he was here too long (whenever that was) it would end badly. _

_For now, feeling that he was needed, he went back to Sirius' side instead of leaving and embraced him, staying like until it was the right time to let go, a measurement he'd relearned._

"_You were so much easier to manipulate back in school," Sirius said as they untangled. Remus chuckled,_

"_Well, that's one good thing that's changed."_

"_A matter of opinion," Sirius said, his smile looking much more like his own again._

* * *

Remus watched Bill's face go from confusion, to questioning, and then when there was no answer, he watched it settle into flurried thinking. Diagnostics, that's what Bill was doing, trying to find symptoms and causes so that he could get to the answer. At least someone was, because Remus felt too tired to run such processes now. It was easier to simply accept that it happened and hope that maybe that acceptance would lead to a brilliant conclusion later. He didn't bank on it, but had a very devil-may-care attitude to the matter at present.

After the ambulance had come and the woman groggily thanked Bill, they'd disappeared off into the alleyway just behind the Leaky Cauldron. It didn't seem so bad to tell Bill what he'd seen, and hadn't really seen a reason not to. If it was dark magic they were dealing with, it was better to have more than one mind going at it seeing as it'd gone beyond only Remus himself; it involved Bill, who'd been put at just as much risk as Remus had, and therefore deserved to know. It seemed a familiar thing, Remus thought.

"So, you saw him when we were walking, and _seconds _later, that window bursts out and we both know that it wasn't something done by a Muggle or by nature."

Remus nodded, feeling only mildly curious. From what he'd heard, the electricity had also gone out, catching frantic angry conversations from the employee's of the building as the sprinklers had gone off; it was almost definitely some sort of magic.

"Jesus, Remus, shit like that doesn't happen by coincidence...," Bill was pacing, his hands occasionally raising up in the air as though searching for an answer. Turning on him again, Bill asked,

"Has this happened before?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"So -- wait, what do you mean, _'no'?_

"I mean that I don't know if it's happened before."

It was becoming very fun, telling the truth like this. Having never been one to say what was on his mind without coaxing or provocation, it was _uplifting.__This London air…_

"Remus, I don't understand, how can you not know?"

Remus shortly explained about the incapability to do magic, the overbearing resentment he'd been having towards everyone and everything (one of the everyone's Bill was able to understand entirely) and how it'd ultimately led to him taking the money Sirius had left him, going down into Knockturn Alley and finding someone kind enough to obliviate a weeks worth of memory for him. He still didn't say anything about the notes however, unsure of whether or not they were connected yet. And if they weren't, he didn't want the little scraps of paper to show their destructive nature in all the wrong places.

_"So you obliviated a weeks worth of memory?" _Bill asked again, wildly incredulous. That made it the third time he'd asked.

"…yes."

"_Shit_!" he spun around as he spat out the curse word, "_Jesus_, Remus...you said he talked to you? I mean you saw him, but...shit..._he talked to you_. Are you sure?"

"Of course. And it wasn't talking so much as a sentence."

"Never mind the semantics!" Bill hissed shrilly in a way that made him sound like Molly, though Remus would never tell him that, "I don't see how you can be so calm."

Remus only shrugged.

"Sirius is dead," Bill tried to provoke a different reaction.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. I saw him die," Remus answered dryly. Bill's mouth clamped shut and he nodded, muttering an apology.

"That still doesn't explain why you're so calm though. That's exactly the reason most people get worried…we know that they used animated corpses' back in the last war, but it was pretty ineffective _and__pardon me_, but there was no body in this case."

Remus nodded, leaning against the dirty, worn brick. Bill looked at him expectantly, mistaking the motion as one of deep thought. The longer that he didn't answer, the thinner Bill pressed the line of his mouth.

"I don't know," Remus finally offered uselessly, and knowing full well of it's low worth. It didn't seem like he should know, like it wouldn't do anyone any good if the truth out. Which it probably wouldn't because the options were that either he hadn't seen Sirius and really wasn't well, or, that he actually _had_ seen Sirius which opened a whole wealth of problems.

"Right, well think on it," Bill snapped, tapping the bricks with his wand to get into Diagon Alley with more force than necessary. Remus smiled ruefully, feeling familiar to the days of ducking into secret passage ways at the castle into mischief making he'd never have conceived on his own.

* * *

Going back to the Burrow had been a gruesome thought for Lupin, thinking perhaps that he should just stay in London and try and figure out the mystery there. But there was nothing to follow, and he wasn't about to go around asking wizards if they'd seen the notorious Sirius Black, escaped convict of Azkaban. That would have been irresponsible. Bill seemed to be of the same opinion, but behaved with relative normality save for when he and Remus were the only people in the room who knew about it and could exchange a glance; they worked on staying out of each other's sight, which wasn't difficult because of the full home. Fleur blessedly seemed to be a handful, or only seemed to be a handful because of Molly's disdain for her and kept Bill busy. Remus could relate to the girl though; Molly hadn't talked to him once in private, and only talked to him indirectly when there was someone to do so through. Apparently, Tonks _hadn't_ come because of him, a distance he thanked her for each time it came to mind. Maybe she'd made a decision to stay back, to forget about him, but he didn't think it was the reason. Nothing conclusive had happened, and remembering on how he'd left her in the last time they'd met, her not coming only seemed to signify that she was ashamed of what she'd done. _And rightfully so,_ Remus added, still feeling cold from it.

There was of course, some highlights, that primarily being to see Harry again, and his heart swelled in the usual way that it did when he saw him, with the pride he, James and Sirius had all felt since they knew even of his conception. The remembrance of that excitement had stuck him halfway through embracing Harry, and it got stuck somewhere in his throat so he extracted himself quickly to try and clear it. Harry took it as him still recovering from the weakness brought on by the moon, and Remus didn't correct him. Of course, as all teenagers were, Harry was quick, not ignore him, but to be swept up in the family's warm reception. The mutual feeling of happiness to see one another again was enough for Remus however. It occurred to Remus that he wished that he'd made more of an attempt at communication while at the manor, suddenly realizing that Harry wouldn't have had any animosity towards Remus by thinking that he was trying to replace Sirius. But when he saw Harry with the Weasley's, he had the distant ache of realizing that Harry had little need for him, having found a family more full than anything he and Sirius could ever have offered.

Harry's outburst against Severus (one of the things that reminded Remus that Harry was indeed not entirely an adult and most definitely his father's son) the night before had come as no surprise to him; but that he knew about Tonks' Patronus at Christmas lunch had. He'd chewed his food with deliberate slowness, begging for some intervention to take Harry's attention off him and for once, his pleading had been answered, in no shape other than Molly Weasley. He relaxed, though it was short-lived, seeing that the real reason for interruption was that Percy had come in with the Minister. It was clear that it meant no good, but Harry dealt with it beautifully. It wasn't until later in the evening after everyone had gone to bed that they'd come upon each other again.

Harry settled into the chair silently, with the usual teeming energy that he had that never seemed to know where to focus itself when it was put into repose. As compensation, he fidgeted with the bottom of his new jumper, which for it's sake was thankfully crafted well enough as not to give way to the unnecessary abuse.

"How are you, Harry?"

"Mm, fine. Ron's snoring, can't sleep," he explained as he glanced at the clock and sighed. Remus laughed softly, though the level of Ron's snoring wasn't much a laughing matter; Remus had heard it even from the twin's room very distinctly.

"I haven't been sleeping well anyways," Harry said defeated. Remus peered into Harry's face to see if he'd admitted it so that he could talk about it, but he saw that the young man had closed his eyes and leaned back into the sofa, hands well away from the bottom of his jumper now. No one had to ask why he slept badly, but Remus could understand the feeling of wanting to talk about it. For a moment, Remus thought that Harry had actually fallen asleep, but his eyes opened slowly, the fireplace giving a faint glimmer to the green in his eyes even through the dark.

"How about you?" he asked sleepily.

"I can't say that I've been sleeping so well either," Remus answered softly.

"Oh?" Harry asked, eyes opening further as he sat straight. Remus hesitated to answer, but it wouldn't do any harm to confide to Harry what it was he saw when he slept.

"That night at the Ministry."

Looking to his side, Remus saw Lily's eyes filled with their usual empathy, and James' mouth curved into concern. It was astounding just how much their image had lived on through Harry. It was strange to see his friends so often in their son, and could see why Sirius had been so eager to cultivate that part of James in Harry, even when he hadn't been aware of what he was doing. Remus felt confused too, looking at Harry. Each time he'd warned Sirius that Harry was quite different from James, he'd hardly believed it himself. For a moment, he felt the familiar choking pain he had when he thought of his friends, but felt a kinship with Harry knowing that the dark haired boy knew a similar feeling.

"Remus…" Harry ventured, and Remus could tell that his name was unfamiliar and strange on the boy's lips, "there's nothing you could have done."

Remus leaned back into the living chair, unable to keep looking at Harry. The choking feeling tightened, and his fingers passed over his throat and traced around behind his neck. There was no one there, he knew, but plenty of ghosts that did the job just as well.

"Thank-you, Harry," he finally managed to push out. The gratitude he felt made him feel much warmer than the fire had done all evening. Harry didn't answer, his body stilled by the awkwardness between them. Waiting a moment for his voice to sound more natural, Remus looked back at Harry, who still had the face of his parents, but was entirely separate from them,

"Remember that there wasn't anything you could have done to change what happened, either."

Harry nodded and stayed a while before respectfully leaving Remus to his thoughts. For a moment of he considered telling Harry that he could stay, but troubling the boy with himself was a separation he was aware that he was required to make even if they did share mutual feelings of abandonment and regret.

* * *

_Remus pressed himself close against Sirius, making sure that he knew he wasn't leaving, arms wrapped around the other man's waist tightly, legs tangled in his. He gave a tight squeeze and let go, feeling that he was smothering him. Maybe he was. Relaxing, he pulled himself apart, but placed his head against Sirius' shoulder affectionately and held his hand, feeling very old, very tired, and very much in need of the simply contact. He was glad that Sirius would indulge him in it even as he knew that the feeling was mutual._

"_When we leave this damn place, we'll live out somewhere away from the city," Sirius promised quietly, "Harry too. We'll be a proper family."_

_Sirius had talked about this before, and it made him sound vulnerable and bare. Remus wondered if he'd thought the same things in Azkaban, and maybe that was why he didn't believe what he was saying. There was no sounding as though he believed his own voice or not, Remus knew that he didn't believe it, but knew also that believing wasn't the same as hoping. Instead of adding to the simple fantasy, Remus kissed the man's shoulder, and then his hand, instead of voicing that he hoped for the same even as the idea sounded childish. The home of misfits; the notorious Azkaban escapee, Sirius Black; the professor werewolf, Remus Lupin; Buckbeak, the escaped Hippogriff; and finally, The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. James would have had a good laugh at the patchwork family._

* * *

"_**You never did ask for much."**_

_**- bedside table.**_


	16. Part Fifteen

"What I don't understand," Bill began, "Is why you only had a week done. And you don't have any idea as to why _then?"_

"No. When I came too, I found some papers writing out everything that I would need to remember as to not pique the attentions of anyone. Although, I think Tonks noticed, but she might have only taken it as myself trying to make a distance."

"Anything else?"

"Apparently I was 'preserving my character'."

"Right."

Bill leaned back on the bench, blankly watching people walk by in their bulky winter coats. He hadn't told anyone, he'd promised, not until they knew more and had something to offer. And as of yet, it could have been an entirely isolated incident he reasoned, and could cause more of a distraction than needed. Everyone was busy, they didn't have the appropriate _time_ for this. He wanted to help, and he'd never say that Remus making himself an inconvenience, but that didn't change that it was another thing on the mountings lists they were already trying to work through with the war effort.

But he had the time right now to pay due note,

"Remus, the thing is, with having gone into as many tombs and hiding places that I have, I can't shake the feeling that this is something similar, but at the same time, likely not as similar as I'd want it to be."

Remus nodded, and Bill wished fervently that he could have said something more useful. He'd never thought that Remus would be capable of what he'd done, and kept to himself for so long; it was a point for concern. But then, when he thought about it, it wasn't so strange given Remus' circumstances. Anyone could do anything if they were just in the right spot of mind for it.

Watching Remus go off into some distant memory, Bill was reminded of what a reserved person Remus was. He was smart, but not everyone got to see that. Bill suspected that he was more sensitive and much less confident that many people thought that he was, sensing that it was probably where his unwillingness to share any part of himself came from. He'd only come alive when he was with Sirius; the warm glow he took on when he saw Harry was hardly a glimmer compared to how he was with Sirius. It'd been good to see it though. They'd never been close, but that didn't change Bill good will towards him.

"Okay, we need to get back, Fleur'll have a fit if I leave her with my mum too long," Bill said standing and stretching out.

"Yes, you're right."

"Remus," Bill said, holding the older man's shoulder for a pause, "I'm going to try and dig up some dirt on this…I seem to remember some old documents on this sort of thing, but no promises on actually finding anything; but I will try."

"Thank-you."

"Not a problem; well, so long as I don't get caught," Bill flashed a grin, "Just…don't do anything-"

"Don't do anything stupid, yes, I've been trying."

Bill clapped him on the shoulder, and smiled as Remus seemed unsure of what to do in response. Bill found himself to be oddly receptive of the idea of having Remus actually having _seen_ Sirius, and maybe it was only because of his age and myth and legend hadn't been taken out of him, or because of his work as a Cursebreaker. Either way, the chemistry to collaborate was there, and for now, and if that's what Remus needed, he was glad to help. The thing was, he'd seen these sorts of things before, a whole wealth of curses and tricks to try and deceive and lead astray.

As to other matters, Remus passed on the information of Fenrir and the prisoners he'd be bringing during the next full moon. His father had regarded the issue with grim calm, and his mum with a look of horror. Remus relayed the information passively, but the way he pressed his mouth when he was finished gave the true story of how he felt about the matter. Bill sighed, dipping his head downwards into his arms.

"We'll have to get someone out there," he muttered, "that's just--"

"'orrible," Fleur finished, her expression not unlike Molly's. Bill felt her take his hand tightly for a moment.

"In France," Fleur started again and his mother's eyes flicked to her annoyance, "they 'ave taken all the werewolves and put them under the custody of our Ministry."

Molly's eyes softened.

"Yes, I've heard about that," Remus confirmed, "Another young man recently came to us, seeking refuge. He said that he'd escaped over the last moon and managed to cross the channel without raising alarms in the British Ministry. He'd been at the French prison, and by the sounds of it, the guards are too frightened to treat anyone properly, which isn't too surprising considering the state of the prejudice there."

Remus' voice had taken on an unfamiliar steely glint by the end of his response and Bill was suddenly reminded that though he could be meek, Remus wasn't someone he'd like to cross. He remembered his mother saying something about that being the most dangerous thing about Remus a long time ago and it occurred to him that they must have thought something ill of him at one point or another.

Looking to his parents, they looked uncomfortable. His father coughed, and looked away, unable to look at his friend. It seemed that no one here would speak as openly about the politics of being a werewolf. It felt as though he should apologize to the older fraction in the room, but he was afraid to cause insult; which was maybe no different from what his parents were doing. _People are always afraid of what they don't understand, _the anecdote said in his mind. He thought however that he understood, at least a little. No one liked to be feared for what they couldn't control.

* * *

_**January is the wolf moon**_

_**- in the folds of the blankets**_

* * *

Any bright feelings he'd had while in London or with talking to Bill were completely vanquished by the dark gloom of Blackhall Forest and the old rustic designs of the manor. He went to the crypt first and wished that he hadn't as he'd taken out his clothes from his suitcase and put them back in the dresser (with the addition of a sweater from Molly, as though proving that she couldn't hate him as much as he felt that she wholeheartedly did sometimes). The mirror greeted him reproachfully, remembering that he'd covered it and forgotten to uncover it over the holidays. After he'd put away his clothes and tugged on the sweater (it was _cold_)he slid the suitcase underneath the bed and headed over to the dining hall. There was hardly anyone there. He asked where Abbatia had gone, hairs on his arm raised to hackles, sensing that something had either gone wrong or was going wrong. The young man sent him out to the back, and warned him of their guests; Fenrir had just arrived.

Remus had faced Fenrir several times over his life from a distance, but hadn't ever actually spoken to him. It was unlikely that once he did speak to him, that Fenrir would allow him to forget that it was he who'd bitten him. The wolf was proud, proud of all the lives he'd made a mark on. Remus wouldn't allow himself to think that his life was ruined. Being a werewolf hadn't ruined his life, it'd merely made it more complicated; his furry little problem. Perhaps that was the one saving grace of having had it happen when he was so young. He couldn't remember a time where he hadn't been a werewolf and therefore couldn't resent having lost the feelings of equality that would have come with being a wizard. Though had resented not ever having them, at varying degrees at varying times.

As he came out the back doors of the manor, he heard Abbatia arguing and saw McInnis at her side standing defiantly against the host of unfamiliar faces. There were of course, Hati and Skoll, but in addition, there were four other wolves. The only one he recognized, and perhaps the only one that mattered when it came to decisions, was Fenrir; bulky, muscled frame and grizzled grey hair gnashing his teeth at the homeowner. Behind them was a host of bound children, men and women, eleven or twelve. It was so medieval, Remus sniffed, though not without concern for the people, feeling the anger quickly come to a boil underneath his composure as he approached the group.

"They'll not be kept out in the cold," Abbatia said firmly. She didn't break her gaze from Fenrir even as Remus joined her, opposite of McInnis. Fenrir bristled and looked over the new comer. It was easy to hate the way his mouth curled into a cruel sneer, the scars over his body distorting his harsh Nordic features beyond what could be seen as merely human. Remus could see Hati out of the corner of his eye, standing again in the shadow of Skoll. He didn't look at Remus; he understood the danger in that.

"You're one of mine," Fenrir said, voice grating Remus' ears with it's harsh pleasure.

"You certainly made your mark," Remus responded mildly. It was better to not display his anger with Fenrir, who would take it as loathing for what he'd done, not what he was doing or about to do at the manor. Remus desired to offer no satisfaction to the monster.

Fenrir laughed; it was crunching glass and a strangled bark. Remus only frowned.

"What's the problem?" Remus prompted. Fenrir regarded him for a moment before answering. He was sizing him up, Remus realized, trying to see if answering him would sacrifice any intimidation he could hold over his subordinates. This was business though, and because Remus presented himself as holding a position in the pack, it seemed that Fenrir decided he was worthy of an answer. That, or he was testing the waters, to find out where Remus stood. His history wasn't unknown; Remus was one of the few werewolves to ever attend conventional schooling, and while they most likely didn't know of his allegiance to the order, they knew that he was friendly with the wizarding community, especially given his relatively recent employment at Hogwarts.

"The little miss," Fenrir thrust the point of his chin at Abbatia, "wants to take the prisoners into the house and keep them all nice and cozy like."

"I want to put them in dining hall with the furnace," Abbatia explained frostily, eyes never leaving Fenrir. She wouldn't look at Remus, and Remus was glad she didn't; if she did, it'd look as though she were looking for help. As the alpha female, she knew better than that, sacrificing no weight of her own power at the manor.

"Well then, do so. They'll be guarded by your's, won't they? You don't need to injure them for what you're going to do." Remus reasoned and challenged simultaneously. Fenrir looked between Remus and Abbatia, and broke into the same offensive laughter.

"Fine, fine, let the girl have her way and put them in the bloody kitchen. Be sure to cook me up one."

The people behind him rustled with the small relief, but the children gaped openly at Fenrir's last comment. The adults gathered the smaller children near to them, and even at a glance, Remus could tell that they none of the children belonged to any of them. Abbatia brusquely walked forward and led the group into the manor, Fenrir's lackeys following and leering threateningly. Remus vaguely thought that it was likely all they could do properly. Fenrir, however, didn't budge, still staring Remus down.

"Done with that _school?" _he asked, the same pointed teeth sneer still splayed over his face. Remus nodded curtly, and followed after Abbatia, the back of his neck feeling very exposed with the knowledge that Fenrir only had to reach out and snap it to get rid of him if he didn't believe him. Luckily however, there must have been something either cryptic, resolved or pained on Remus' face when he answered and no such attack came.

It was a week and a half until the full moon.

* * *

"Remus," a low voice beckoned from the shadows. Remus paused, peering into the dark, and saw Hati's bulky form approaching hurriedly to pull him back into the shelter of the trees, feet crunching in the crusted snow underfoot.

"Remus, you have to go, you can't stay here" he pleaded, "they're going to do something really, really bad."

"Hati," Remus said, settling a hand on the large man's shoulders, "I can't go anywhere. I haven't got any other place to go."

Lying to Hati was difficult, Remus realized, making sure that he was very careful in what he said. He couldn't tell Hati about the Wolfsbane; it would be safer for him if he didn't know. Remus' eyes flicked to Hati's brow, and he saw snow had frosted his hair; how long had he been out there?

"You're a good man!" Hati protested. Remus gave a sharp laugh, his whole body rejecting the statement.

"Hati, there are great deal many things that'd I've done, and even more that I wish I had, and by doing or not doing these things, I cannot say that I agree with you. However; thank-you, but I won't be going anywhere, not while there are people important to me here that need me."

That _wasn't_ a lie, Remus thought, feeling the last part of his appeal reverberate in his voice. It was difficult too keep himself separate from these people, and while he'd not known them for nearly as long as he'd known most of the people he considered friends, it'd been very quick to consider some of them friends. This, he knew, was dangerous but it did not stop what he felt in his heart. Thinking of how life had been before he'd gone to the manor, Remus felt that there was some gratitude that he must pay to those who'd accepted him here. Without knowing, they'd led him back into socialization and made him feel more_ human_ again, something that an outsider to the manor would never be able to understand.

"We should go inside, Hati, it's not warm out here."

Hati nodded, uncertain of himself and Remus could sense that he'd been waiting for a moment alone with him since they'd all returned and now, thoroughly deflated, he was unsure what to make of Remus. They made their way to the manor's heavy double doors, Remus ushering him in first and waiting a few minutes to enter himself. It'd do no good to be seen on friendly terms by Fenrir or his wolves for either of them.

* * *

The manor was unnaturally quiet. Even the wolves who'd openly worn their support for the Dark Lord when it was only Hati and Skoll present hadn't said anything about their willingness to push Voldemort's agenda forward with Fenrir in the vicinity. It wasn't so strange; if you were to voice your opinion of anyone, it wouldn't be to someone as unstable as Fenrir, who would easily turn words into challenges that he knew he would win.

Mealtimes were when it was most noticeable. Despite the presence of the unwanted guests, everything went on as usual, and even if someone could manage to skip breakfast and lunch to avoid coming together in the now crowded dining hall with the prisoners and their bodyguards, they would inevitably show up for dinner for a quick bite. Remus went to each meal time out of principle, McInnis or Abbatia with him. This was more than he'd done before, often skipping meals out of neglect or other preoccupations.

With the full moon fast approaching, he thought of the Order and found himself dubious of anything that they could do to prevent what would happen then. Weighing his post and duty against the lives of the people who were taking uncomfortable residence in the dining hall was more difficult than he could have imagined. Each time he saw them, he had the notion that he should just take them all now, and leave the manor. But even as the wild ideas filled his head, he knew better than to take on an opponent when he was so greatly outnumbered and over tasked. He'd done all that he could, he tried to reason, but it unsettled him that even if the Order did send witches and wizards, that things could go terribly wrong when pitted against a whole pack of werewolves where some were friends and others weren't.

As for those who weren't, Remus had never seen such disgraceful and bawdy behaviour in such levels for a very long time, if ever. Arrogant, lewd, and with muscles far exceeding their intelligence, they harassed and intimidated their charges at all hours, taking shifts and setting the insults and threats anew with rejuvenated vigour. As for the prisoners themselves, they could do nothing, a curse put over then so that they could not speak, a curse Remus was sure he could break but didn't dare.

Even Violet was keeping quiet, and Remus didn't hear any of her tall tales. Instead of a welcoming feeling towards that aspect of the intrusion of Fenrir, it only made the manor feel even stranger, the air thick with expectation of terrible things. He found that he hardly had time to think about what had happened in London, the whole event more seeming to a dream. Faintly, he tried to imagine what Bill would find, if anything at all.

"Look at them," McInnis grumbled, shuffling through the kitchen filling plates, splattering a heap mashed potato onto the floor without noticing, "all thick as concrete and just as dull. Christ, how can they _live_ like that, bloody philistines…"

Remus hummed an agreement, taking the plate and passing it along to the huddled group, an older woman smiling as best she could through her fear in thanks. He wondered what she did, it was unusual for Fenrir to take someone older for these "conversions". She'd likely done something to displease Voldemort and not Fenrir, or had been taken as leverage or punishment for someone who had. It didn't change the despicable treatment she was receiving.

"Quiet, Richard," Juliana warned, using the same tone that she did with the children. Rose and David were being kept out of sight, under Abbatia's watch at the moment, though in the past few days Abbatia had insisted that Remus watch over them, attesting that her skills laid in potion making, not defence against dark arts. Remus was glad to take the charge, even if it did divide his attention more than he would have liked.

He'd moved temporarily into their room, which was nearly the same as his except that a wall had been taken down so that it was larger, and it'd been more thoroughly furnished so that it was more suited to the children. The brighter colours nearly made it seem as though it were a part of the manor rather than the crypt and was a welcome change.

Rose, Remus found, while often being the more audacious of the two, was actually petrified of the dark, a discovery he made by accident after he'd shut the door one night. She's tried to be brave, a point that he made sure she knew after. At first though, she kept quiet. However, by a quarter after the hour, he'd started to hear her sniffling. He knew immediately what was wrong, and gathered her up to him, blanket and all and she erupted into sobs.

It'd taken her another half hour after that to calm her down, her little body warm and curled against his own as though for dear life. He showed her the charm he used, the blue flames at first frightening her. He experienced a flash of horror that he might've just made a mistake. As he assured her that it wasn't hurting him though, she'd calmed down enough to even venture to touch it herself. He was relieved when he heard her giggle and tell him that it only tickled and after putting the light in a jar they took from the library for just that use, she quickly fell asleep. For Remus, sleep was not so easy even among the good energies of the two children.

Someone had charmed the ceiling much as the ceiling was charmed in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, though obviously on a much smaller scale and without the reflection of the outside weather. Every night was just a calm, starlit night with only wisps of clouds passing over a moonless sky. It had a very relaxing effect, laying out on the floor and staring up into the abyss. He never thought that it was looking back.

* * *

_The book in his lap seemed reluctant to relinquish any of it's stories or coherency. He'd been trying to read it since he'd gotten in, but instead he felt restless and worried and resolute all at once and for the first time, he truly felt that there was little consolation in a book, just as he'd been warned by his friends._

_He hadn't seen Sirius since he'd left two months prior, but felt the guilt of leaving flood him over again. It happened every few days. Just when he'd worked it out that he could function without over thinking it -because he always thought of it- everything he hadn't thought of just broke through and crushed itself over his chest again. But he'd get up again, work through it and pretend that it hadn't happened. It wasn't too hard when it all felt like a dream that was only punctuated by the sensation of being truly awake._

_Frustrated with the pages, he shut them with a quick noise and placed it on the floor beside him. He didn't have furniture save for the worn out mattress the previous tenant had left and smelt suspiciously of baby sick. In fact, compared to how he'd lived with Sirius, this was downright appalling. It was a shared flat, housing another werewolf, though he was so anti-social that there was virtually no hope of exchanging more than two words with him in a day, a old hag (an actual hag) who was in her room nearly as often as he was, and a older looking man he suspected very much to be a vampire. This didn't worry him, or the other werewolf; a vampire would never drink tainted blood. _

_This was what happened when you stayed in Blaightstrow. He was looking for somewhere else, but with the Ministry demanding that all werewolves (and other creatures of "near human intelligence") identify themselves in any situation where money would be concerned, there weren't to many places that'd open their doors. From what he knew of these dorm structured apartments however, the owner was actually a old hermit who lived out in the country and didn't care much who lived in the squalid place. But even at that distance, the owner would know of the tenants he'd attract with the building being so close to Knockturn Alley. Blowing out the candle, Remus crossed the small space on his knees, careful to lock the door and settled into his heap of blankets he'd layered to try and cover the baby sick smell. He hoped Sirius was pleased._

_But Sirius had no idea, and if he had, Remus was certain that he wouldn't have let it pass. Sirius was very good at that sort of thing; remaining furious, irrationally so, until he saw what the consequences were firsthand. Only, Remus thought, he probably wasn't irrationally furious right now. If there was one thing he could have done to ever hurt Sirius, it was to leave him without telling him and without promising to return. Hypocritical, from Sirius' point, but that was how it was, and now that he'd gone and done it, Remus wasn't sure what to do next. Miraculously, he'd found a job at a shop specializing in rare, dark creatures. Even though it forced him to pass through some of the seediest parts of Knockturn Alley and some of the shadiest characters frequented the shop, he actually enjoyed his job. Even as it consisted largely of cleaning the enormous amount of cages. If there were ever a time to sharpen up on his cleaning charms though, this was it._

_Once the day had run through though, it didn't change that he was going home to strangers who only acknowledged him in passing. He still ran errands for the Order and it was easy to keep track of what was happening among those most effected by the Ministry's crack down on 'non-human' creatures when you lived among it, but because so few people actually had known about he and Sirius, or that they'd even been living together, no one asked or noticed the gloom he felt had come over him like a second skin. Or a third, depending on which view he looked at it through._

_But he was functioning on his _own._ Living, _on his own. _And even if it wasn't being done very well, it was a fact he felt some pride towards. At least the flat was clean, he thought, thanking his newly developed skills of cleaning. The washroom had been atrocious, grime collected in every corner and spiders hatching in the corners. The only one who seemed put out by the cleaning had been the hag._

_Through it all, however, he felt that something wasn't being done. There was a great sense of waiting for something to happen, and a great sense that it would, but only when he least expected it. It wasn't something good, he could tell that. Pulling the blanket over himself he scoffed. Of course he felt that way. It was a bloody war._

* * *

"Remus, will you join me for a moment?" Abbatia asked. Nodding, Remus excused himself from the game of chess he'd been playing (and losing terribly) with McInnis. McInnis gave a look of sympathy, knowing where they were going and the remembrance of the taste turning the sympathy into a frown.

"They think that you're my man," Abbatia remarked mildly after they'd gone past one of Fenrir's wolves. Remus laughed, but because of the dark atmosphere of the manor, it seemed hollow and hit the walls on either side of them to fall flat.

"I would be very ill-suited to that honour," he assured. He thought that maybe he should put in a word for McInnis, seeing as that seemed to be going no where fast, but they were quickly outside and crossing the snow covered lawn. The sounds of the snow served as a continuation of the conversation, saving him from the temptation to meddle in the romantic affairs of others. He knew how that felt, after all, and knew that he personally had no taste for it.

To drink the potion, he used his usual method of pinching his nose and tipping his head back, but the familiar burn still went down his throat as unforgiving as before and burned at his nose with the threat of tears. He had to keep his mouth shut for a good ten seconds after, just till he was sure that he wouldn't retch and send the invaluable potion all back up. The first night, having been without it for so long, it'd come up and he'd had to swallow it down along with the stomach acid that'd come up with it. Unsavoury, to say the least.

Since he'd returned to the manor, everything had felt very mechanical; duty. It wasn't an unwelcome feeling, finally feeling some sense of purpose that he could dedicate himself wholly too. The duty didn't stop him from thinking of what Sirius might've said to him, but now at a distance, he was content in knowing his worries regarding that were now shared, and with someone he trusted and with knowledge of such things.

He felt the nagging guilt of not trusting Tonks, and could see the hypocrisy in trusting Bill instead of her whenever he relayed the reasons through his mind. But the defining difference between her and Bill was that Bill wasn't trying to love him. Bill was only helping because he'd been there and it'd effected him as well. This, with his good nature making it an innate reaction to help, was far more comforting than the love Tonks professed to him. What she felt, overwhelmed him. He was unused to such insistent proclamations of love, especially from young women. His proclivities didn't help either, and when he thought if he should offer that as one of his reasons for declining her, he was only afraid of damaging her pride. He'd seen the effects of a damaged pride before, and using his inclinations as a weapon had never been appealing to him.

Or perhaps he was only afraid of who'd she'd confide in. Being a private person, he didn't want any more attention than what he already attracted as a werewolf. There wasn't much to protect of himself, and it'd become so ingrained to him that he needed to protect what was left, that sacrificing even that preference to the knowledge of another was a painful thought. Atop that, no one had thrown themselves so bare for him in such a long time that it was a secret unto himself that he craved that attention so deeply that a meaner part of him would not stop itself from exploiting it. The kinder part of himself simply ignored it, and with Hati's claim that he was "a good man" summoning itself to his mind, he knew that he wasn't doing good enough.

* * *

_**Where does the sun really go at night?**_

_**- front pocket of the black trousers**_

* * *

The night came quickly, the winter day short. Everyone waited expectantly, nervously, in the usual clearing of the forest. Rose, David and Juliana had all gone to a separate location, as they always did, but Abbatia had sent them even further out than usual. They thankfully would have no part in this.

The company was less than usual, several of the men and women, the ones that Remus knew to if not align themselves opposite of Voldemort but rather on principal had left. It was unlikely that they'd return to the manor, at least so long as Fenrir was there. Those who stayed either won or lost all respect Remus had for them. But this wasn't about what he thought of it.

The wind shifted leaves, and Remus looked around, half expecting to see someone. He looked for signs of the Order, though he knew that if they did their job well, he wouldn't see them. His body went a fraction colder, if possible.

Before the evening, Remus had been careful to voice hateful words towards Dumbledore and the school, finding it sickeningly easy to fabricate lies that sounded like truths. He remained neutral on the topic of which 'side' he supported, saying that he was for the wolves and would rather put himself in their lot because they were _his lot and whatever happened at the_ end of it all, he'd still be a part of that fraction. Fenrir seemed satisfied with his overhearing of these sentiments and did not harass Remus any more than he did anyone else.

The wood was uncommonly still, the watchers having gone off into the trees so that they could track the wolves movements through the night and collect them in the morning. Remus did not envy their positions, shivering himself as the cold, wet air slapped them on the face and cut through their clothes. Normally, they would have stripped down by now, modesty not an issue among wolves at the full moon, but with these strangers it seemed unanimously decided that they would sacrifice their thrift for the small feeling of protection it gave them.

Remus gritted his teeth as he started to feel the pull that'd been on his skeleton throughout the day increase dramatically. He was stubbornly determined not to shout, primal instinct beginning to take over and insist that it prove itself to the host of unwelcome wolves. The sound distant in his ears but his sight poignantly sharp, he heard Fenrir snarl joyously and begin to howl as his own body gave way to the moon's demand. His wolves joined him, and a few from the manor, but Remus continued to house the monster in his throat, body now overheated from the exertion.

With the Wolfsbane, he could remember the beginning stages of the transformations better. He gasped as he felt ligaments tearing, muscles and bone reshaping itself and sharp teeth trying to find room in his mouth. The taste of blood, metallic and hot filled him, and he could do nothing but swallow it, tasting it's poison down through him to the organs that twisted to the shapes belonging to a wolf.

And from there, he was only blinded by pain.

Quickly, his body forgot ever being in a human shape and on all fours he lurched forward. But there was something else that he was supposed to do, he remembered, searching around in the simplified mind what it was. He was quickly reminded however, hackles raised as he caught the scent of the stranger wolves. One came and began to circle him, snarling, snapping, barking and he returned the hospitality in defence. The commotion attracted the attention of the other wolves, some still tearing at the human clothing they found their limbs caught in. Most stayed back, but as he growled, the new wolves ganged around him, forcing him to back away from the group. Realizing that he wasn't supposed to be there, Remus turned and ran, the smell of the forest rushing past him and lonely howls escaping his wolf's mouth in dejected cries.

But there was something in the air, and the wolf rounded, massive paws skidding along the wet snow covered ground. Remus could feel a swell of excitement, wolf legs loping towards the other wolf and finding friendly smells. He couldn't think about what had happened to drive away from the pack, too overwhelmed with the simple happiness his wolf mind gave him in having a companion. They tumbled in a clumsy joy, the way that many werewolves did unless in their human shape they'd found reasons not to.

Both wolves went still as another scent came in the air and they heard rustling in the bushes with keen ears. Remus watched, far in his mind, as the other wolf left his side and began to approach the sound. As he moved, the sounds continued and a large black dog came out of the bushes. Now, both wolves began to move forwards, investigating the threat.

The dog tried to smell the pair, but wolves can't understand dogs. Despite the canine link, the greeting was soon reduced to circling and warning growls. The dog didn't back off, confused, still trying to approach. The larger of the two wolves lunged forwards, jaws going for the throat. But the wolf underestimated the dog's strength and swiftness, and were soon thrust into a conflict of claws, muscles and fangs, both equally as threatened and unwilling as the other to back down until one dominance was proven.

Wolves, like many living things beast and man, were not very sophisticated in battle, and neither creature had taken into account the terrain; a grave mistake as both, still tangled, tumbled down a sharp drop and landed with a heavy thud filled with breaking bones, whimpers and the thick scent of fear stagnating the air in a putrid stench.

The remaining wolf felt it's heart plummet, but had little time as another threatening scent came through the air and a large looming figure disappeared into the woodland. Overwhelmed at his mates fall off the cliff or to follow after what he could only identify as danger, the wolf circled around itself as though pacing, trying to come to a decision.


	17. Part Sixteen

He woke, eyes feeling crusted over, and felt himself raise an arm only to have it fall lightly back on the ground, not expecting to feel so weakened. He tried to turn over so that he could move over the ground, the cold snow breaking as his hand fell through it, stinging his hands. Crouched over, he coughed, his lip cracking as he did so. Looking over the grounds, they were more still than they should have been; no one had come to help them yet, and he could hear no one approaching despite the painful keenness of his hearing.

Ducking over, hopelessly trying to find heat to warm his bare skin, he could feel well established bruises move as his skin moved and saw them discolour his skin like disease. But he was healing as he should have been, the restorative qualities necessary for a werewolves survival taking over. Once he'd found where all the hurt places on his body were, he was able to focus on his others senses. Scent revealed that the air was laced with the night's injuries. Looking up, his eyes reeled over Hati's own damaged body, to the emaciated black dog laying lifeless not two metres away.

"Maera." he muttered, recognizing the dog that had run off the night he'd been out with Violet. It's body had diminished, pushed into starvation from the winter, it's domestication hindering it's survival. Dragging his eyes over to the side, he took a sharp breath, as he took in the full extent of Hati's injuries. A limb laid splayed at an awkward angle, blood stained the snow in too many places. The air felt noisome as he breathed it but he gathered it regardless and sent out a ragged call for help. It was no good- he voice was too quiet.

He tried to stand and took several stumbling steps towards Hati, awkward and dangerous.

_Please_, he begged simply. He didn't dare to think further. He reached out with a numb hand and gently pressed on the man's shoulder. Remus wasn't relieved when the body shuddered underneath him, even with the fog clouding his judgement he knew that it was no guarantee. There was nothing to hope or thank for yet.

He cleared his throat and shouted out again, this time it came more clearly, but no stirrings in the forest answered.

"Hati," Remus spoke firmly though the gravel in his throat, "listen to me; you need to _stay awake."_

Hati didn't answer, but Remus knew that he heard him. A dim memory of being pulled out of the cellar by Molly and Tonks briefly superimposed itself. It broke as Hati muttered something that Remus forced into an affirmative response. It was in all probability simply a sound of pain.

"It's alright. Everything will be alright," Remus assured. It was too cold; his chattered loudly, impending his speech and making it difficult to speak at all. _Where are they?_ he thought in numb anger. He lost the patience he kept in check, shouting out incoherently into the morning with all the air he could muster, sending the blood rushing to his head and making him dizzy. Hati made another noise, but it was too soft to force into any sort of word, negative or positive.

"Hati, _stay awake._ It'll be alright, I'm right here, just _stay awake,"_ Remus ordered again. It was much easier to lie and say that it was alright to the man than it'd been to hide his agenda. It still felt just as wrong, caught somewhere in between the lie being for Hati's sake and his own. He shouted out again, and this time, heard movement ahead of them.

_"About time,"_ he snarled, sounding to himself like someone else entirely as his voice hit deep in his sense of sound and pain. Upon hearing his own voice however, he uttered an apology, though determined that it's worth was little given the scene. Hardly able to form the sentences in his mind first, it was no wonder that anything he said had little connectivity to what he meant or what was true. He looked down at Hati again, the mangled body showing severe injury from what he could recall through wavering flashes of memory to have begun in a fight with the dog Maera. Looking up at the unforgiving drop and the rocks and ice that covered it, it was obvious what had caused the rest.

There was no one speaking, and it struck Remus as strange and he looked back ahead of them. He realized as he saw the approaching form that he hadn't gotten the help he'd been calling for.

Had Maera not been laying so close to him he might of thought that it was her at first, but with the animal's lifeless body hardly an arm's length away, there was no second guessing.

Sirius' dog shape forward slowly, as though seeking an apology for something he'd done wrong. Maybe he had. Even with the Wolfsbane, Remus only remembered flashes of the night and couldn't recall what had lead Hati out to him. Faintly, Remus watched Sirius approach, not caring to wonder why or how he was there like he should have been. Sirius crumpled forwards, inching slowly towards Remus.

"Why don't you change your shape?" Remus asked thickly. Sirius didn't make any indication of hearing or caring to answer the question. Instead, he turned over onto his back, exposing his neck and signifying his submission. Remus had never seen him do this before, but understood what it signified, if not what it was meant for. Contemplatively, Remus extended his hand forwards into the thick, snow frosted fur of Sirius' throat. If it was a hallucination from the exhaustion, cold and hurt, it was a very well constructed one.

"What are you doing here?" he probed. He felt the dog-shape turn over again underneath him and brush against him. The morning light reflecting against the snow had become too bright for his eyes and he shut them, risking dozing off. If no one came, they'd be at risk of hypothermia with irreversible damage; he was certain Hati at least had already descended into it. Remus slumped over Hati, in hopes of maintaining some heat between the two of them, but he couldn't feel anything and couldn't gauge the effectiveness of it. Feeling himself succumb to sleep, Remus wrenched his eyes open, though he could only manage them into slivers. Faintly he felt Sirius squirrel his way in as tight as he could beside them, the warmth from the action feeling unnatural but nothing that he could think far enough to resist to.

His sense of time had gotten so badly set off, that when Remus opened his eyes and found himself in an unfamiliar room, he had a fleeting moment of complete disorientation. It was like waking in a dream; he closed his eyes and then opened them again and realized that he wasn't dreaming. It was the same unfamiliar room as before. He wasn't in the manor.

"You're awake, I see."

Remus tried to lift himself to look to the source of the voice, but a hand pressed him back downwards into the pillow.

"No, lad, stay down. Won't do you any good to sit up, I think."

Remus nodded, laying back into the pillow, the throbbing in his head making it apparent that the man was right. He heard scraping on the floor and the man came into view; it was Abbatia's uncle, Henry. Closing his eyes, Remus listened for a moment and from the sounds of a crowded room downstairs and music deduced that they were above the pub, in what must be Henry's living quarters.

"Miss Abbatia has asked me to keep and eye on you, she says that this Fenrir fellow is out for your blood he is."

Remus' mind jolted, shoving himself upwards despite the stiffness in his joints,

"What's happened to Hati?"

"The young man they found with you?" Henry asked, eyes widening in alarm as he tried to ease Remus back down again.

"Yes," Remus hissed, impatience getting the better of him in his panic. It dawned on him better than it had the other morning that it was /his fault./ That for whatever reason it was that Hati followed him, it must have been something that he'd done. As wolves, things became simplified, and there was no knowing what had happened to Hati if his wolf-self had revealed any association to him.

"He's alive, in poor shape though." another voice came in. "We don't know if he'll get through, with all the injuries and the hypothermia." A slow shuffle of assisted movement approached the bed.

"McInnis," Remus identified as he tried to brush away Henry. The phoenix tears, if he could get the phoenix tears to Hati, he'd be alright. At the very least he'd stand a change.

"Get down," McInnis growled, assisting Henry with settling Remus back down. "You'll only hurt yourself, it's still to early for you. Don't you even want to know what happened before you try and run off?"

Remus swallowed and allowed himself back into the bed, seeing the logic in McInnis' assessment. Immediately, he felt as though he'd just been rendered obsolete, laying back down in the soft bed and thick blankets. He glanced between Henry and McInnis' faces, trying to discern whether or not the news was good. Almost immediately he gathered that it wasn't.

"Someone put Abbatia under the Imperius curse; the pack won't necessarily follow Fenrir. Two of the children that Fenrir brought are dead, they couldn't withstand whatever assault happened over the night. We've found three people infected. The others are unaccounted for, and I'm assuming that's to your doing."

Remus nodded weakly. Fenrir had gotten nearly half of them despite his efforts to prevent it; his insides went cold as iron.

"Abbatia sends her thanks for that. I do too. As for what happened to you, we're only guessing. What it /looks/ like is that Hati went off that drop there along with Maera and then you went down afterwards. Fenrir, bleeding bastard, he was up nearly straight away and he's blaming you for it all and since it's mostly the truth, save for Hati's injury, Abbatia had you taken here instead. So far no one who shouldn't know has found out, but it would appear that as long as Fenrir and his dogs are at the manor, you can't go back."

Remus had never thought much about leaving the manor before, too intoxicated with the novelty of not being at Grimmauld Place, but McInnis' words struck him much harder than he could have anticipated. Novelty wears off, the idea of leaving left abstraction. Once again, he had no proper place to go, and the overwhelming sense of abandonment began to cast over his thoughts. Lifting a hand, Remus covered his mouth, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. _What's left?_ he asked the planked ceiling despairingly.

"Remus…" McInnis ventured. It was the silence, the silence that no one liked to hear, ominous, grim; unresolved. Remus uncovered his mouth and took a deep breathe, finding that he hadn't been breathing as much as he should have been and the dry rhythm in his lungs resumed. He closed his eyes for a moment more, trying not to feel betrayed by the Order's failure to get everyone. There were a million other things going on, he tried to remind himself, and even if they'd been able to lead a full-scale operation, there were a million other things that could have gone wrong. The reasoning failed to extinguish the feelings of anger completely. The powers of reason seemed to be failing him more than ever, he thought helplessly.

"What now?" he asked, though he wasn't entirely sure what he meant by it. It didn't feel like he was asking either of the men beside him at all. It was a question he posed more to himself, but had said aloud in hopes that someone would give him something, _anything,_ as an alternative for whatever he could think of. Opening his eyes he searched their faces again and this time found nervous hesitance. Neither of them wanted to speak, though Remus silently urged them to get out with it. Building the anticipation didn't change what needed to be said.

McInnis cleared his throat.

"Abbatia wants to evacuate everyone from the manor. The new wolves included. It's ten in all, not including yourself."

"And?" Remus pressed, though he was beginning to see why McInnis had been hesitant. He thought that he was asking too much, but in truth, Remus felt that he would leap at any available scheme to fend off feigning for himself again, alone. If the plan was the right thing to do, it only made it easier for him to be consumed by it.

"You're the only one with connections strong enough to get everyone to our emergency location and help us make it safe."

"Yes," Remus agreed, resolve deadening the feeling of immobility he felt. Cautiously, he adjusted the pillow he was leaning on to prop himself up against the wall.

"How will we do it?" he asked. He understood fully that this was not what he'd been sent to do by the Order, but faithful obligation and gratitude made the decision simple.

* * *

Abbatia's plan was simple. Remus was too go in early in the morning, and they'd hide him in the priest hole on the second floor. He'd wait the day out, and the first change they got, Abbatia would send the signal for everyone who wanted to leave to gather out behind the greenhouses. Included were Juliana, Rose and David, the new wolves, and the wolf who'd come from France before the holidays; ten people in total asides from himself. Twelve if he and McInnis were included; a large, dangerous number that could easily attract attention.

McInnis however, gave no indication of leaving the manor himself, but judging on how he avoided the issue, Remus sensed that there was pressure for him to leave along with everyone else. As it was, McInnis who also hiding in Henry's home, claimed that Abbatia had told him to go not only to watch over Remus and relay the plan, but also because "he ran his mouth off too easily when he got in a temper and would get himself hurt". In lighter circumstance, Remus would have allowed the indignant statement to entertain him, but as McInnis had said it, it fell flat to both of them.

The pack would be taken to another location, a property owned by McInnis. He said that it was small and would need much work to be made hospitable and even more to keep it hidden and safe, but as it stood, it was the best location they had. This was all simple, but the risk of discovery dampened their hopes of getting out cleanly. It was considered that they could slowly leave in smaller groups or singularly, but the idea was voided, posing a greater risk than leaving all together. No one wanted to be separated either, knit too closely now, a feeling all the more strengthened as they were being run out of their home.

Abbatia would remain, and it was clear that it was her way of cutting the losses by making a personal sacrifice. It was no wonder that McInnis was reluctant to leave. Without the friendly wolves, however outnumbered they were, to leave would put Abbatia in direct harm of Fenrir without any proper hope of getting out alive.

It was nothing that Remus could find an alternative too, and he respected her decision.

Remus informed McInnis of the phoenix tears in his room, and asked him to get the information to Abbatia so that they could use it on Hati's injuries. From what little he recalled, the hurt there would definitely benefit from it's use, Remus putting himself on a lower priority for it's worth.

They'd have to wait another day, McInnis said after checking over Remus. As he was examined, Remus noticed McInnis' own haggard state. He was told that he'd woken up the same day they'd been found, an unusual situation Remus assumed to be brought on by stress. However quick the waking had come to him, it had come quicker to McInnis who was mobile and coherent merely by his stubbornness. It was clear that McInnis' body had suffered much more from his lycanthropy than it had for Remus, a common occurrence with Muggle werewolves. He shouldn't have been up earlier than Remus, never mind plotting for an evacuation of the manor. The reason for it was clear enough however; McInnis' love for Abbatia propelling him blindly forwards. Remus could relate from experience and it was an easy thing to identify.

In the panic, he hadn't thought of Sirius' spectral appearance immediately. Laying in the bed for his recuperation however, he found time soon enough to think of it.

It differed from his last encounter. The last encounter on the streets with the window had been of a sinister nature. _Something's gone wrong._ That's what he said. _Something _had_ bloody well gone wrong,_ Remus thought viciously with frustration. Frustrated because he didn't know where to direct his focus, or his anger, or what he was supposed to do after this was all over. The thought that there was nothing left played as a backdrop to every thought.

He made an attempt to refocus. _Something's gone wrong._ It could be a warning, or a plea for help, he decided. He'd gotten past even wondering about the impossibility of it anymore. Linked with the most recent occurrence, it seemed like it could have been a warning. Which meant that there had to be precognition at play, and for all anyone knew of the afterlife, that could be a common trend. But if it was a plea for help…

He didn't have time to finish the thought.

"You should have died of hypothermia," Violet stated, seating herself in the stool aside his bed. He hadn't heard her come in.

"Excuse me?"

"You should have, but you didn't."

Remus began to shift the bedding again so that he could sit up.

"You're supposed to be resting. Have you slept at all tonight?"

Remus shot a glare at her. First she tells him that he should be dead, and then she tells him that he should be preserving himself.

"What do you want?" Remus asked as evenly as he could manage. His sympathies were in short supply, though it was nothing overly personal. Violet stared at him openly, expectantly. She sighed.

"Sorry," she said. It sounded sincere.

"Someone's following you and I think they somehow…stopped you from dying of the cold. I don't understand it, but I know that you aren't crazy," she continued. From her robes she produced an envelope, his name and the words "examination" written in a sharp cursive on it.

"It was on your bed when I was getting the phoenix tears from your room, and I figured it had to do something with your little follower. The night that Maera ran away, you probably remember that I didn't draw my wand. It wasn't something that we couldn't fight against, and I knew it wasn't following me. You aren't crazy."

Remus took the envelope from her and was surprised to see that it wasn't open. He regretted his sharpness towards her but remained suspicious.

"Oh," he answered lamely. He wasn't sure how, or if, he should be reacting to anything she said. She was excited, her words quick, and he sensed that they were less about him than they were about her.

"I told you that I'm a medium, right?"

"You said that you were working as one," Remus said, trying to smoulder the scepticism from his voice. Judging by the flash of insult on her face, it seemed that he hadn't achieved it so well.

"You don't know if you should believe anything I say, do you?" she asked. Point blank, the excited tremors in her voice had dropped off.

Remus nodded, too tired to argue with her. He'd have to start asking questions soon however, because he still couldn't piece together what she wanted. He was plagued with the overwhelming feeling of becoming a pet project, and was not at all in favour of it. The Ministry did a well enough job of that, he didn't need it from a woman twenty years his junior. On the same note, he remained quiet, interested to see where she was going with it. Pet project or not, it pertained to him specifically and though he'd more or less come to accept the ghostly interruptions and interventions, he knew that it was always wise to have as much information as was available.

"I guess that's my fault," she said, the look of hurt pride still evident on her face. Remus nodded again, thinking of her stories and his opinion of divination.

"I just can't help myself sometimes," she admitted. "It's fun. Anyways, it's not why I'm here; I know that you're leaving soon, and it's killing me to know who's following you."

"Pray tell why I should tell you?" Remus asked her wearily. She said that he wasn't crazy, but as he'd told Bill what he'd heard that day in London, he'd felt more on the _insane_ side of things, and it'd be no different with her. He owed her nothing, and most certainly not this. Not the thing he'd been holding back from everyone at his own expense for longer than he cared to measure anymore.

"Scientific interest."

Remus felt stricken and cheap. He felt his face flush, and his lip curl.

"Get out."

"I might be able to help."

"Get out," he repeated with even forcefulness.

"If they're in trouble--"

"If he's in trouble, he can sort it out for himself."

_"Sirius, if you'd just let me help…" Remus began but trailed off. What could he do? Underneath the table he closed his fingers into his palm tightly and then released, maintaining his calm. He could be there with him, and hope that it was enough, that's what he could do._

_"No, it's too dangerous," Sirius dismissed. Remus narrowed his eyes. Of course it was dangerous, why else did he think that he was offering his help? He resolved to push further._

_"Which is why I think that I should go with you. The single reason that no one else is accompanying you is because everyone qualified is preoccupied. If we can delay it for…two days, I can go with you. I can do it, I'm qualified."_

_Sirius looked away, calculating his decision. _Good, he's tempted_, Remus thought. There was always an appalling feeling of desperation and helplessness when they'd be split apart for missions of the Order, always the feeling that they wouldn't see each other again for either a very long time, or simply never again at all. Remus worked very hard to prevent these distances, conceding only when he knew that there was no other way. But this time there was another way; the mission was rightfully a two-man operation, and there was no one who would contest that._

_"No, you can't. You don't know if you'll be done that soon and it has to be done immediately."_

_"Christ, Sirius," Remus muttered angrily, at a loss for words. At times, it felt like he was the only one trying to preserve _both_ their lives. Sirius seemed to have put himself under the impression that it was better for only one of them, for him to risk his life. It wasn't. It was selfish, it was reckless. Sirius had skewed ideas of what heroics were and where they should come into play. Even when he explained it to Sirius, he never understood. Remus saw no good in being alive without Sirius, not when he could prevent it. And though it was a simple enough point, to Remus at least, to understand, Sirius refused to see it and both were well aware that he knew that he refused to see._

_"Do you have to be so selfish?" Remus asked wildly. Sirius didn't answer, verbally distancing himself so that there'd be no further discussion. Again, selfish, Remus thought. Sirius would rather let him work himself into an infuriated mess so that he couldn't argue at all rather than offer any compromise. Catching himself, Remus took a deep breath. He fell for that tactic too often._

_"Sirius, _please."_ He was begging now, a position he rarely resorted to because of it's ineffectuality. Especially with Sirius._

_"No."_

_He's impossible, Remus thought. He watched Sirius disbelievingly as he stood from his seat at their table, without hesitant pause and went to their room to collect what he needed. Remus leaned far back in his chair for a moment, running his hand through his hair before thrusting himself forwards after Sirius. He didn't know what to say to change his mind, but had other methods of expression, equally as unavailing in swaying decisions but infinitely more effective at laying his reasons down so that they could not be ignored._

_The message was received in full, but changed nothing._

* * *

After Violet left, Remus wondered if he wished that he'd been more patient, but still felt the seething of anger from her intrusion. If he's in trouble, he can sort it out for himself. It sounded cold, but he meant it in the highest regard. He'd also evoked the feeling that he'd just dismissed himself from the issue. It would have come as more of a relief if he knew exactly what it meant for Sirius if he didn't delve into the mystery further. He'd still be waiting for whatever Bill found, as precaution.

But if he'd driven Violet off permanently, he didn't know if it'd be useful.

Taking a spectators position on the matter was as worry ridden as it had ever been, Remus found. Put into the context that Sirius had gone somewhere that Remus wanted, but could not follow for the sake of his commitments to people other than himself, did make in manageable however. Of course, he'd been managing before, but in a way burdened with debilitating qualities. Embracing his mortality however, Remus thought that perhaps he could mete it out simply as a waiting game.

As for Violet herself, her claims that she could "help" felt too much like a design simply conceived to further confuse him, whether or not she intended it to. Stemming from that too was the possibility of fraudulence. Though he trusted truth to exist in parts of his experience with Violet, he did not want to give way to false hopes from a science subject to much disregard in both the wizarding world and the muggle world. It was arrogant, perhaps, but he was not willing to pin hope on something so feasible. He didn't want that kind of help; it was flimsy and even in a weakened countenance, he could not sell himself to the idea. The hope he placed in Sirius was something much more legitimate, and his faith in that was unquantifiable, far beyond the measures of "scientific interest" even as it was faced with dubious thoughts spiralling outwards from his fears.

It was not reason alone that brought him to his final decision, but if he had faith in anything, he knew that it should be in Sirius. It'd only be a waiting game to find out if he'd done the right thing now.

Games need rules, he thought. He couldn't seek reckless situations, he couldn't be sloppy in dangerous situations. Whatever he did, he'd have to remember Sirius' wishes; protect Harry whenever he could. He could never deliberately put himself in danger if there were other ways. There was no easy way out; he'd have to fight. He'd have to make a fair chance at his own survival; it could never be his decision. It was a waiting game, and he'd have to live without knowing when it ended, but live with the promise that it would.

"Please let it be the right thing," he said softly out into the dark.

_I won't be seeing him again till it's over,_ he realized. That's what it'd all lead to. Decisions. Maybe, it was what Sirius had intended from the beginning.

_**How these things end**_

_**- crumpled in the water glass**_


	18. Part Seventeen

Remus couldn't recall ever awakening to a more hellish situation, and that was including the time he'd woken up only to be told by his friends that he'd gotten into a graveyard. But it was not something he'd done that left a foul taste in his mouth and a thick poison in his mind now, it was what was about to be done and it's slim margin of success. He wasn't sure that he'd ever felt responsible for so many people.

Pressed up against the brick and mortar of the priest hole's narrow walls, he was cramped, claustrophobic and the air had the old stale taste to it that was associated with old buildings. It wasn't even an ideal place to think really, only thinking of the soreness of having hardly any room to sit, and no room to stand given his height. A smaller man might have done better. These things didn't matter however, in the grand scheme of things, but it didn't change that they were there. There was no contentment in waiting, whatever the room it was given.

But once it started happening, all knowledge of the waiting dissolved and when he felt a hand reach in from light too strong for his eyes after having been in there for so long, his body and mind immediately sprung into action.

"I'm sorry that you were in there for so long," Abbatia said, letting go of his ankle once he'd gotten out far enough to manage himself. She lowered the lamp, realizing how bright it was as Remus shielded his face from it. It wasn't that bright out at all; just how long had he been in there? But before he thought of asking that, he was assuring her that it was quite all right. He carefully manoeuvred himself out of the space, stirring dust and scraping his knuckles nonetheless as he hoisted himself outwards.

"How's Hati?" Remus asked. "Did the phoenix tears help?"

"Yes, he'll make it through. He's sleeping still."

Remus tried to formulate something useful to tell him, but had to settle with hoping that Hati would understand.

"Tell him I'm sorry."

"I will."

Sorry seemed like weak words to offer the man; he didn't even know that they were leaving, still out cold in the hospital bed, flesh re-knitting itself, the chill still having it's last fingers over him.

They stood for a moment looked each other over, and it felt as though something should be said, but Remus found the wealth of his words run dry. Abbatia appeared to be having the same difficultly, her mouth moving as though to speak, but only her breath ghosted past her lips. Instead of speaking, Remus found it easier to rest a hand on her shoulder in a feeble gesture of reassurance. They both know what it meant, her staying there and he innately sensed that there was no way of convincing her otherwise. If she left, Fenrir's wolves would follow, no matter how well they fortified the new lodgings. He felt a choking pressure in his throat and cleared it's obstruction. He let his hand slide smoothly off from the fabric of her robes. She doused the light and began to lead him down the hall.

"Everyone is already gathered outside, you only need to get off the grounds, about a two hundred metres out. You'll have to go through the garden, but you'll get some cover from the evergreens. After that you'll have to cross the lawn, which is where things could go wrong. Fenrir has two of his dogs patrolling the grounds; you'll have to cross one at a time, keeping low. Someone's going to have to take Rose and David; with you there, you'll have enough to get everyone to the new property with one trip."

She explained the procedure in a brusque hush and she brought him to an exit he hadn't noticed before leading out from the pantry to the back of the manor; it was around the corner of one of the shelves, otherwise blending into the wall with the illusion that it wasn't there. The wind from the door was cold and casting a look out at the snow, he couldn't have imagined a time worse for the evacuation. It took a fool to think that there was ever a good time, but the chances /were/ in a disproportion.

Was the whole operation a mistake? Perhaps. Should he have sent for help? Probably. But this was _their_ task, and he did not expect wizards to understand.

They heard footsteps in the snow and Abbatia quietly set the latch back in the door.

"There's another way I can get you out," she whispered. Remus nodded, taking a breath to calm his nerves. It'd do no one any good for him to get caught. Despite his efforts, he still cringed when the door knocked against it's frame with someone on the other side trying to get through.

"Abbatia!"

It was McInnis' voice and Remus relaxed a little. Abbatia cursed softly under her breath and reopened the door, a chill breeze whisking through. McInnis shuffled into the small space as quickly as he could, slipping through the space, trees branches dragging in with him; the door lead out behind the evergreens in the back of the manor.

"Do you have any idea what would happen if they saw you lurking about in the dark at this hour!" Abbatia hissed. McInnis didn't answer, getting through and crowding the space significantly.

"I've decided. I'm staying," he informed, finding Abbatia's eyes in the dark. Remus became very uncomfortable, recognizing the tension in the air and knowing that he'd have to let Abbatia convince him of otherwise; McInnis wasn't going to listen to him.

"You aren't," she responded plainly.

"I am. It's my decision."

_No time,_ Remus thought, but he couldn't go even if he wanted too, Abbatia and McInnis blocking his exit. Besides, they deserved a few moments, moments he'd taken before in the past despite their danger.

"I am."

"Richard, it won't do any good."

"I can't leave you here like this," his voice strained. Remus waited for Abbatia's answer, but she said nothing. She couldn't sincerely be thinking of allowing him to stay? They'd tear him apart. She raised a hand in the dark as though to touch McInnis' face and Remus saw the glint of gold reflect from around her ring finger. He tried to take a step back, but there was no space and he couldn't lean against the door as it was too loose in it's hinges, light coming through in a thick frame from the kitchen's light. He strained to hear anyone in the kitchen, but heard nothing. It was too obvious that he was intruding, but here he was, watching an all too intimate exchange like a common peeping Tom. As a compromise he leaned to the side, carefully leaning on a sack of flour; it gave them some room, and the scent of rosemary flooded his senses enough to detach himself.

"Richard McInnis, I love you, but you can't leave those people," she said finally. Remus saw McInnis' jaw drop through the light from the frame and he shut his eyes to block it out. He shouldn't be seeing this! The thought screamed in his mind as he felt Abbatia's shoulder graze his chest and he opened his eyes again in alarm to see her take McInnis' palm and press her lips to it; a compromise. McInnis was left speechless by the gesture.

"Now go!" she urged, reaching behind him and opening the latch again. With a gentle push, McInnis stumbled out the door, Remus quickly following.

"Thank-you for everything," Abbatia whispered, grasping his hand with hers. "Take care of him."

"With my life," Remus promised.

"Go!" she urged again. Remus didn't need to be told again, and placed a hand on McInnis' shoulder to guide him forwards. McInnis didn't speak until they'd gone round and the greenhouses were in sight.

"She wasn't ever going to love me the way I wanted her too," he admitted hollowly. He sighed, and it was obvious that he wasn't looking for an answer.

"But she did love me," he settled. Remus nodded and muttered a quiet 'yes', and they slipped around the corner. It was clear that everything had gone wrong even before Remus had his wand out and was shouting the closest spell his lips could find.

_"Umph," Remus heard from across the room. Sirius had gone flying backwards and landed heavy thud on the stone floor. James punched the air in victory._

_"Not so fast, Potter," Sirius warned, already picking himself off the floor. James didn't seem to hear him, and Remus could already see where this was going. He could even give a countdown on it; five, four, three, two, two and a half, one..._

"Anteocularous!"

_Remus turned away to stifle his laughter, knowing that it wouldn't be well to let Sirius see his amusement. Focus on the task at hand, he reminded himself._

_"Peter, never mind them, we have to work on your wand movement for the Revulsion Jinx."_

_"Remus, Sirius just gave him _horns,"_ Peter said with utmost seriousness, his attentions already drifting away from the duelling practice. "This is going to be brilliant. Gosh, look at him, can't even lift his head up; those things are enormous."_

_Conceding that there was little point in continuing the practice, Remus turned to watch with the rest of the students the next battle of wands between James and Sirius. James currently had the embarrassing predicament of trying simply to lift his head, weighed down by a heavy set antlers. _Use your magic,_ Remus reminded him silently. James pointed his wand at his head and the antlers (which were rather impressive, Remus would admit) shrunk down until they'd gone._

_"Do they ever learn?" Lily asked hopelessly from beside him. In a flash of white light, her green eyes illuminated, emphasizing the annoyed expression over her face._

_"No, of course not," Remus informed. "Oh, I didn't know James' had gotten that one to work."_

_Sirius did his best to deal with having his knee's reversed, stumbling sidelong as he tried to figure it out. He hit the floor again with a heavy thud, cursing loudly. James didn't cheer this time, on-guard for further attack. He deflected the first, absorbed the second -Sirius was relentless once he got going- but with a glance over to Lily, he was put out long enough for Sirius to his him._

_Remus hadn't been expecting the screaming and immediately sprung into action, Lily following shortly after. As for himself, he roared out a disarming spell that consequently knocked Sirius back on the floor again, a look of shock on his face._

_"I didn't realize that it could be that powerful," he admitted numbly, watching Lily reverse the hex. "It was just a stinging hex."_

_Remus resisted the compulsive to hit him upside the head, recognizing that Sirius had sincerely made a mistake; everyone in the room had gathered around to see a good fight, but instead saw something eerily similar to the Death Eaters trademark Cruciatus Curse. He set to setting Sirius' reversed knees into the proper position, found that he couldn't and helped over to the hospital wing. Lily glared at Sirius as they went by, a look of resentment she reserved entirely for him. Remus wouldn't say that when it came about that Sirius didn't deserve it._

_James of course, later forgave Sirius after a rough tumble onto the floor, headlocks, clawing, and finishing by saying that in a real battle, it was just that sort of thing that might give you an advantage. Remus didn't ever see Sirius use the stinging hex again, assuming he was as perplexed as the rest of them as to how his magic had taken such an affinity to it to make is so powerful. It happened; just not again._

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

It was happening quickly, spells flying out at every direction before anyone could fully register what was happening. The captives, the people he was supposed to be getting out of there safely by his silent pledge and resolve to do just that, dodging as best they could. He had to get the wizard's wands back. He had to make sure that no one got hit accidentally. He had to make sure that he was watching his own back, had to watch others; had to ignore that something had already cut his face and that a warm tickle of blood was going down along the centre. It was easy to become enveloped in the ways of battles, detaching himself, finding decisions with only a moments searching. Getting to that state and _staying_ there was where the difficultly would begin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abbatia race down across the lawn towards them, her face contorted in fury and her wand held outwards, arms rigid in their movements, mouth shouting out spells with vehemence at the host of dark wizards. It was more than just Fenrir and his dogs, several other wizards in the easily recognized Death Eater masks firing spells back. He parried off a spell with a quick shield, eyes searching for the other wizard's wands.

There, they hadn't broke them but one of Fenrir's had it in her hands, a woman who must have just arrived this night. Somehow, their secret had gotten out, and Remus would have tried to think of who would tell them, but the truth was, it was probably no one; the plan was simple and sometimes that was an advantage, but sometimes it was figured out just as simply as it was conceived.

Remus summoned the wands towards him. They tore out of the woman's hands, and she yelped in alarm. There were four; all but one hit him as they came forwards; the fourth had been caught in his hands. He dropped low, gathering the other three, hoping that no one else noticed; but the woman came towards him, charged, more like, and lunged. He had her suspended in the air by her ankle in a moment, before she could wrap her large hands around his throat, a quick flash of memory as to what he'd seen done with that spell before he threw her back and continued towards the men, women and children he was supposed to be _saving._

"Remus, get their bounds off! I'll cover you!"

Remus looked behind him and saw Violet join the throng, casting curses. He heard screams; she was using the Cruciatus Curse.

_No time to think of her ethics, _he thought, lurching forwards over the uneven ground. Several more spells and he was close enough to get the _Incarcerous_ spell off of them. The bounds were easy enough to cut but now they had to get away from the manor far enough to Apparate. He tossed the wands back to their appropriate owners and they were quickly put into use, and he hoped it'd be enough to get everyone to the right space. He took a quick tally and swore when he realized that McInnis wasn't out there, forgotten in the panic; something he'd probably been counting on. _Bloody, stubborn…_ He directed everyone to go ahead, to take their flight across the lawn. Two hundred metres. That's all they had to get through.

He looked out over the garden, trying to spot McInnis; he was near Abbatia, who was trying to defend both him and herself.

"Violet, we need to get to McInnis," he shouted. She gave no indication that's she'd heard him, but recalibrated her direction. She didn't get very far, an attack she'd missed perhaps because she'd been listening to him getting her instead.

"You're little protégé?" Fenrir asked, knocking Violet on the back of the head, sending her flying forwards. He didn't need magic to pose a threat. With an enormous hand, he lifted her by her arm; she wasn't struggling yet, conscious, but still too woozy to respond. Remus didn't waste time talking to him, immediately sending out a stunning spell; easy reflected by the monsters own magic from his free hand.

"It was you who interfered," Fenrir accused, lips curled back, his pointed yellowed teeth barred. Remus wasn't intimidated, hardly paying attention to Fenrir, his eye on Violet, who was still hadn't recovered. Her wand was out of reach.

"Let her go," Remus demanded, for what little it was worth. He couldn't fight Fenrir properly if he had Violet like that. Fenrir laughed, and instead of letting her go, lifted her arm to his mouth and bit down, the blood nearly instantaneous. Remus cringed as he heard his teeth sink into flesh with each gnawing bite and even through her wavering consciousness, Violet screamed, a distinct punctuation, even in the chaos.

Remus didn't have time to watch in the disgust he felt, and instead launched himself forwards to take advantage of Fenrir's showboating, getting close enough to hit him with a spell that he couldn't escape in his madness and that wouldn't effect Violet. He didn't know what he'd said, but it hit Fenrir's shoulder, a thick gash, causing him to stagger back and drop Violet unceremoniously to the ground. She began to crawl away, eyes fixated on her wand, blood trailing behind her. She'd live.

_"Petrificus Totalus,"_ Remus muttered again, this time without interruption. Fenrir's body locked, his face in a horrendous contortion of rage and pain, eyes locked onto Remus' face. He stood for a moment, looking into the beast's face and found no semblance of reason in it, and found for himself no real desire for revenge. On his own history, Fenrir was a footnote, merely the wolf who'd been used against his family as he'd been used against the families of others; a creature that simply needed to be caged away.

"Remus, go get McInnis," Violet hissed, propping herself up against a low garden wall, wand again in hand. He nodded and as he began moving forwards again, saw her conjure up bandages that made her gasp as they tightened over her wound. Ahead, Abbatia was doing her best against the two Death Eaters that'd been left standing; another lay either dead or unconscious not a long way off. Remus quickly went to her aid, making quick work of another of Fenrir's wolves as he crossed the space. Taking flight across the lawn with a pair of Fenrir's wolves in pursuit were the Muggles and their Wizard protectors. They could handle themselves, Remus gauged, and threw himself full on against one of the Death Eaters so that Abbatia could focus completely on the other. He could smell the sparks of magic in the air, felt his limbs moving against the hurt on their own accord, hardly thinking of it at all as he tried to debilitate the opposing wizard from further combat.

It was not 'fun', not the way that Sirius had so eagerly leapt into combat the moment he'd heard Harry and his friends was in danger that night at the Ministry. Of course, his first interest was to protect Harry, to save James' son, but there was that element of hedonism, a certain type of joy that Sirius found only in combat. For all his intelligence, it was still /action/ that counted far more than planning, discussion or secrecy. It was an appeal Remus had never found. He knew what risks were in battle just as much as Sirius did, and it made him refrain, made it so that he looked for alternatives; Sirius thought about things like that as well, but rarely thought of them first. It wasn't in his nature, and it couldn't be incorporated into it even if Remus had tried; so he never did. Sirius got what needed to be done, so Remus never questioned his methods. He showed concern, and may have tried to convince him otherwise on occasion, for all the fool's errand that it was and knew it to be. He rarely needed to however, more often than not there to remind, there too keep things on path. And if he wasn't, James was, James who'd grown into responsibility, harnessing the penchant for function in the face of their own anarchy that he and Sirius had bonded over and redirecting it for more productive means. Sirius hadn't ever really done that, not as well as James. Remus always assumed that it was because he didn't care to, and always found no reason to reform his ways. Incorrigible, headstrong and proud to the point of arrogance; all things forgiven for his finer qualities, but all things that made even the day to day rough.

And that's what'd gotten Sirius there that night, dying with a manic grin not entirely knocked away by the impact of whatever it was that'd hit him. That unrefined near-sadism. They'd been separated; Remus not there to say what needed to be said to keep in check the methods of what needed to be done. Instead, he'd left him with Harry, maybe too much James' son the ways that he hadn't grown into his place yet, and maybe with still too much admiration for Sirius to say those things, those little reminders. That'd been too much responsibility to not explain, to have had no chance to explain; simply, Remus felt that it should have been him at Sirius' side, them protecting Harry, not…what had happened.

The Death Eater he was duelling went down, unmoving, but not dead, like he might have deserved. Remus stared; faceless villain fallen. He felt a bruise across his chest where something had gotten through, brushed his fingers over it lightly to assess it. He was fine, for now. Out across the lawn they were gone, they'd gotten away. He turned around, checking for McInnis and saw him face down in the snow. His throat constricted and he went to his side, the scene beginning to feel distant, the only sounds were those in the background of Abbatia and her adversary, Violet's breathing haggard, harsh and not far off.

"McInnis?" Remus heard his voice ask, far away.

"Present," McInnis groaned. Remus could have murdered him for his attempt at humour at a time like this. He felt his senses draw in again though and his throat loosed,

"How long can you wait?"

McInnis looked up miserably.

"Go help her. I can't."

"Remus, I'll watch over him," Violet promised, hand gripping her arm, the bandages already showing it's incapability to withhold the bleeding. She hardly looked like she could stand. There was no promise that any of their opponents wouldn't wake up. No promise that more weren't coming. How had Sirius enjoyed any of this, making these decisions, prioritizing the lives of others?

Remus knew that that wasn't what he'd found entertainment in.

"For Christ sake's, _go,"_ McInnis urged. "Violet will take care of me."

Finally, he felt himself nodded, turning, mechanical, towards Abbatia and saw the fallen Death Eater he hadn't known to be dead or alive push themselves off the ground. The smells of magic still burned in the air, but it was cold that was sharper, forcing his breath into words with it, taking it into his lungs, matching the cold anger he felt. He intercepted the Death Eater on it's way to join his or her counterpart, furiously working against them, feeling old, and hurt but finding a strength in knowing that he wasn't fighting alone. He saw Violet and McInnis trying to make their way off the grounds; so did the Death Eater. Disengaging from the proper formats duelling, they went after them, forcing Remus to distant himself from Abbatia; he had no choice though, no time for apology, and followed after.

He shot spells out, trying to stop them, trip them up, freeze them; anything. Soon they'd gotten too close, Violet hampered by McInnis as she did her best to get him away. They were in the line of fire of both Remus and the Death Eater, and she did her best. Without his cane, McInnis could hardly walk at all, and the bandaging over Violets arm had become completely useless, coming loose in the effort. There was too much blood for Remus to tell if it was only her hurt, or if it was both of them.

Remus felt a searing burn crawl up his leg from a spell shot from the Death Eater and fell forwards, knocking the wind out of his chest so that he couldn't cry out in the pain he felt. There wasn't time for that anyways; doubled over still, he stopped, and had to rely on his aim, which was a risky thing to do at the range he was at. If he wasn't careful he'd only hit who he was trying to protect; mindful of this he straightened himself so that he could see more clearly, thanking his aging body for not letting the moon's grip let go of it the way it had when he was younger; his sight was keener than it'd normally had been, and maybe just enough.

_"Confringo!"_

A tidal of snow and frozen earth shot up in front of the Death Eater, disorienting them long enough for him to bind them. He'd wanted the first spell to hit them, but sensing the ferocity of his will behind the spell, redirected it; it was not his intent to kill. That was their intent, and he very ardently intended to have them keep it as theirs, for as long as he could help it.

Ahead, McInnis and Violet vanished as she Apparated herself and him away. With that taken care of, he looked down to his leg, saw the fabric of his pant leg sticking to a burn extending from his ankle to his shin. The pain was dull, and only intensified slightly at the sight of it; he'd seen to many to be startled or shocked by it's appearance.

A loud crack nearby brought Violet back to the scene.

"Don't just sit there and stare at it," she said, approaching him. In passing she muttered something, and he felt the fabric peel out of the wound, another word and he felt it knit back together enough so that he felt he could stand with reasonable stability. Despite not feeling the wound in his mind, his body had felt it enough to make him immobile. She extended a hand to help him up; he took it without hesitation.

"I thought that you supported the Dark Lord?" he asked, somewhat puzzled, though won over by her actions.

"Fenrir's wolves? I said that I wanted to be treated equally, not lorded over by a pack of moronic imbeciles," she informed him humorously. Her brow furrowed, and she began tentatively, "You should know-"

"He's not following me anymore. I thought so," he cut her off. He thought so. If that's what it'd been at all; he still didn't trust the powers of seers, having heard of too many that were fraudulent; he wasn't holding it against her anymore, and maybe even believed her; but that was for some other time.

"I didn't really think that I'd have to tell you," she said, smiling faintly. Remus nodded, mind already drifting elsewhere; after he'd rested sufficiently, he'd woken to the sense that he was not alone necessarily, but rather that he was not followed. It'd felt bare at first, but he'd quickly gotten used to it. Not being followed didn't mean he was alone; he took it as a sign for the better.

"Abbatia," he redirected, locking his leg at the knee with each step to ensure that he didn't simply fall over. Violet was much faster, closed the space much quicker as she bolted across the ground. Looking out, he saw someone approaching from behind her; large and black in the dark. A shadow; Skoll. He was up to no good, that was clear, and Remus couldn't tell through the dark if he had a wand. There was no time to focus on him however, as danger came from a more obvious source.

The Death Eater, faced with the prospect of facing two adversaries released their most fatal curse; they'd lost patience, Abbatia's skill wearing them out and pushing them into simplifying the situation, too cut the losses. She wasn't _that_ important, just a point of preference. He had to get there; he was almost close enough to be useful, to put an end to it. With three of them working at it, they could capture them, unmask them, put them to the Ministry.

A flash of green light flooded the garden, vivid, framed by tall shadows and momentarily blinding.

The colour made Remus fill with shock, choking him. He was brought back to full clarity on the situation at hand, the logical methodology he'd been trained to fight with breaking at the sounding of the killing curse. In a moment, everything became too clear, jarring his senses worse than the pain could have, green light flooding the space in a violent, final flash. For a moment, he thought that they might have missed, seeing Abbatia's figure still standing in the light of a nearby lantern. But shifting his frantic gaze, watched Violet fall, spread-eagled, and the ice in his lungs filled the rest of his body. Instead of battling her, the Death Eater had disposed of her, swatted her away as though she were simply a pest buzzing in their ear. She hadn't even had a chance.

For a moment, the night fell quiet, but broke at the sound of a muffled laugh, stifled shortly only by _"Morsmordre"_, and an eruption of the snake and skull against the night sky.

If there'd been anything to have set Abbatia off, it'd been that, and Remus did not need to see her face to know it. He sensed it, anyone could have; she uttered the Cruciatus Curse. The laughter abruptly cut short and the new sound was louder, shriller.

She had not shouted the curse, instead saying it low, a contrast to the mania that'd taken to the night and far more frightening for it. It was said with a voice measured in unfathomed and impulsive rage. Remus had not heard it, but it was evident what she'd used. The Death Eater's time to enjoy the kill cut short, instead sent into screams and writhing uselessly on the ground; Abbatia's venom was potent enough to torture, and Remus could feel it mingling with his own, feeding off of it. There had been people killed by the Cruciatus Curse on it's own and he had the mind to not stop her; but that wasn't _right._ That wasn't something she could do; that wasn't something that he could let her do, despite the anguish that was so easily palpable in the dark.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Her wand went flying out of her hand. She hadn't been paying attention to what was happening around her, leaving her open for attack. However, as the wand left her hand, she descended to the ground, stunned by her own actions. Recovering quickly with panic and the cruelty that sustained Voldemort's minions, the Death Eater was poised for attack and Remus cursed, realizing that he should have had himself in a better position to cover Abbatia once she'd been separated from her wand.

For a moment, his heart stopped in the light of another flash of green with a guttural roar sounding like a gale in the night. His mind panicked into the thought that he'd just removed Abbatia's only defence and paid it's price in full.

But it was Death Eater who fell and the culprit emerged from the shadows. It was not who he'd thought it was. Remus raised a hand to cover his mouth, cold fury turning him numb as it drained out of him.

Hati, not Skoll.

"It's…" he said, low voice rumbling through the air. He didn't finish, his hand falling to his side, wavering a moment before tossing the wand into the snow. Remus could see him breaking down, deconstructing, whatever will that brought him to cast the curse disappearing, out of his system, saw the horror set in; it was apparent that, at least as a man, Hati had never killed anyone.

"He was going to…" he tried again. On the third try he succeeded,

"He was going to kill her."

No one moved.

Remus sent a message out to the Order, and within the hour, Auror's arrived, collecting the two remaining Death Eaters for the Ministry. Fenrir had gone, someone had broken the paralyzing spell on him, most likely one of his wolves, recovered when no one noticed. Out of the opponents who'd come, they'd found three dead, three more to incarcerate, and the rest; fled.

As for themselves, there were two causalities, asides from Violet. Remus could not admit that he'd known them, but they weighed heavily on his mind. He had felt that the whole operation had been his responsibility, though others would attest that it was a communal failure. As survivors do, the feeling that more could have been done was felt by each involved. Especially with Violet, who he'd misunderstood and underestimated entirely. She hadn't deserved what happened, even if she claimed to play on no 'side' and didn't follow the rules of his 'side', she hadn't deserved it.

It wasn't her war; it hadn't been the war that'd made her come back. It was loyalty and love. Two elements Remus had always known to be there, but allowed to be obscured from his vision; they weren't any more, and now it was too late, though even if he'd known the outcome, he couldn't envision their relationship being any different.

He was still sorry, and still grieved.

Death did not only take, but also left it's black mark on the living. Hati of course, had left the manor, joining Abbatia and McInnis at the new location. He said little, numbed by what he'd so clearly done. McInnis assured him that he'd done the right thing, and expressed his gratitude profusely, euphoric to have Abbatia brought back to him. As for herself, Abbatia gave him a quiet thanks, grim and serene; a perfect contrast to McInnis. Remus tried to make him understand that he hadn't done anything wrong; it was war. To expect to avoid death, to expect that they could give everyone the decided system of justice, would be futile. To the best of his ability, Hati had done what needed to be done. He hoped that Hati would come to accept it and hoped that he wouldn't have to be a part of this war again.

What needed to be done; they first buried Violet, a dark alabaster headstone in a lonely graveyard outside of London. They'd discovered with some effort her family; they found no parents, and instead a grandmother, wizened and in the care of another granddaughter; a sister to Violet. They hadn't known where she'd gone; last seeing her with her mother as they made for France. That'd been five years prior, and they were reluctant to share more; no one pried.

There was no numbness to find in death, not this time. Her body was there, the visual reminding him each time he saw it that she was gone. There was no lingering feeling, no half-hope filling him that there'd be the possibility, the slivers of chance that she could live again. He'd laid flowers over her grave, a final parting; something he'd been robbed of before, and was glad as death would allow him to be that it was not taken this time.

The processes and rituals of death, played a greater role that he'd ever realized before. He'd always known how it'd felt, how the rituals were suffocating and how it was agonizing to go through with it. When it'd been for James and Lily, he'd been the only one left, the Potter's family exterminated. Lily's sister, Petunia, hadn't attended, and somewhere he'd hoped that she might have helped with the service. When she hadn't, others of course had come to fill in the position, but if anyone had understood what he'd been feeling, he thought (perhaps foolishly) that her, being a sister would know. Having that one other person in the room who knew would have been enough, even if there weren't to greet each other or speak, he felt.

Of course, Sirius would have understood, but he didn't see him for twelve years after that night.

But he wasn't comparing Violet's death with anyone else's; it was there, she wasn't, they were, and the ritual was what mattered, what needed to be done, first and foremost. It had helped. The room was filled with people of similar grief, and some said what they needed too and everyone listened.

Once Violet had been laid to rest in that little cemetery, Remus went to McInnis' property to begin putting up wards with Abbatia. For now, no one from the Order bothered him, though he sensed that the mission was coming to an end. He would be able to fool no more werewolves under the influence of Voldemort, giving him the feeling that he'd very soon be rendered useless, his greatest asset revealed. He would try to find consolation in the positions of research and errands, but knew already that while being indispensable services in the grand scheme, they could have been filled by anyone. That streak of adventure he'd cultivated with Sirius and James already writhed to be set loose at the mere thought of confinement.

There wasn't much to be said at their parting, good will transcending words. A few were said nonetheless, formally closing the chapter for Remus. He was invited to stay, wanted to and was wanted, but duty still won out. Atop that, he feared himself to be a danger; Fenrir wasn't known for his forgiveness but rather for his irrational sense of revenge. Remus didn't want to be the one to bring that upon them.

McInnis promised to continue teaching Hati and reluctantly, Remus took his leave. He did not return to Grimmauld Place, and instead went to a small cottage Dumbledore had found, furnished with a small library and isolated enough so that Muggles wouldn't drop by. He received post from Abbatia, McInnis, and even Hati, but there was only so much to say. This was fine; all he needed to know was that they were well.

He was not as lonely as he might have felt, even without the sensation of being watched, or finding notes in peculiar places. He went to London enough to feel involved and of use, and had enough company over to feel wanted. Bill had quickly become his most frequent visitor, sometimes with Fleur, sometimes without. Sometimes he brought the information he promised, but it was as vague as anything Remus had found in the past months. There was no book filled with answers on this topic it seemed; it wasn't as unsettling as he thought that it might have been and he'd seen enough of life to overcome that fear.

"Remus, I'm sorry, but it's like pulling teeth, finding anything even remotely relevant," Bill confessed wearily, rolling an apple under his palm on the rough table. Mildly, Remus hoped that he intended to eat it and not simply leave it there all bruised. "I should also mention, that you still aren't nearly as bothered as you should be."

Remus smiled back mildly.

"There's nothing to worry about on that front anymore, I don't think."

Bill scrutinized him,

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

Remus didn't offer more on the matter; there wasn't all that much to offer. He and Bill had talked about finding someone to reverse the Oblivator's work on his memories, but had decided against it; the further back the act, the more dangerous and difficult it'd be to reverse it. His sensibility had finally begun to outweigh the impulse to play detective. The improbable truth was that either he'd seen Sirius, heard him, sensed him; and there was the probable truth that he'd corroborated events together in a patchwork to make it seem that had. There was no way to prove or disprove either, and for the first time since it'd all begun (much further back than simply Sirius' death) he could accept that. Not an easy medicine to swallow, but no worse than knowing a truth.

He still however, listened for the truth; it became something in the back of his mind, surfacing now and then with a trigger objects or situations. All transitory.

"Remus?" Bill asked for his attention tentatively. He'd drifted off, something he'd actually done less of lately, preoccupied with tasks to keep the Order moving smoothly.

"Yes?"

"You seem better."

Remus nodded in agreement. He even honestly meant it, too.

"We were worried," Bill told him. He seemed hesitant to word what they were worried about, and he felt a rueful smile over his lips. His life had been spent in others worrying about him and he still hadn't gotten used to it. But then, that was to be expected; they hadn't gotten used to him or his certain flaws. Looking Bill in the eye though, he knew that that wasn't what he was thinking about. For all it's strange qualities, the phantom like followings had probably been the most relatable flaw he'd ever had. At it's core, it was simple; it was grief, and he needed no examination of his sanity to know that or to know that it didn't leave.

For all that he knew, there was still that final meeting, and he could give no prediction nor apply any formula to foresee just what he'd add to his knowledge when it came.

Until then, he'd wait and do what needed to be done, whatever it was.


	19. Part Eighteen

_"Just once more."_

Remus peered around the room, seeing no one. Perhaps a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Maybe nothing. But he knew the voice or knew what it meant.

"Yes," he agreed grimly, swearing the oath as well. "Just once more."

* * *

Whatever normality he'd retained after Violet's death and his departure from Abbatia's pack was quickly set askew by Dumbledore's murder. Remus knew that he was not coming back, and every kindness he'd shown weighed on him like bricks, crushing, final and inappropriately without thanks. Tonks seizing his hand and confessing her love again; he accepted it finally out of what may have been a desperate impending desire to not be alone. He was not certain why he did it. Once it'd been done however, it'd trapped him. He could live with but never forgave himself for it. He hadn't done right by her, and threw himself into filling that space with compliance. He tried to be the best husband, taking cues from what he'd seen from James, from Arthur, from how he imagined McInnis would be once he'd convinced Abbatia to marry him; gathering a whole wealth of what he'd seen and imagined and trying to emulate it. The only time that path broke was when he'd tried to convince Harry to allow him to go with them; to _take_ him with him. An embarrassing memory now, one born of fear and lingering because of it. He should never had agreed to marry her, he thought again, and the only reprieve had been their son, where he'd played no false love and did not behave how he imagined that he should behave. It'd been surprisingly natural to him.

A son however, he realized as he stood on the well-visited platform, that he'd never see grow up and hardly had a chance to love. It felt deserved for him, underserved for his son. Though he did not feel cold on the platform, he felt a chill go through what he imagined to be his body.

What was strange, he decided asides from the obvious, was that he didn't see anyone else present. He'd seen others at Hogwarts depart, saw one of the twins fall, he couldn't be sure which; saw the boy, Colin Creevey who shouldn't have been there at all. He did not know what happened to Tonks, but could guess that after he'd gone, no one could have gotten to her quick enough. It'd just been them, another duel gone wrong in what he hoped was the final battle.

But he wasn't really thinking about that, standing as he was, bare in the space that wavered. He wasn't uncomfortable, nor concerned with his appearance. There was no estimation he could place on how long he'd been there, or if it was how it should be going at all. He remembered Sirius saying that something had gone wrong for him, and he remembered telling Violet that he could sort it out for himself. Had he? Where was Violet?

Where was Sirius? He'd promised that it was just once more.

"How long do you figure you're going to stand there all starkers?"

Standing in front of him as though summoned by the mere thought, was Sirius, grinning and looking much younger than when he'd last seen him. He wondered how he hadn't seen him, and how long he'd been there. He was _there;_ unlike the strange ethereal quality of the platform, Sirius was solid and fully formed.

"I haven't got all day you know," he continued, picking at imaginary lint on a set of handsome robes Remus hadn't ever seen before, "Very important things to do, full agenda you know, booked up right until next spring."

Remus stood, dumbfounded. At his side, a set of robes appeared. Death clothes, he thought numbly. Sirius didn't move towards him, waiting with what Remus identified as nervousness from the silence. He could wait a moment for Remus to answer while he took in the sight. He looked so young. And as though he'd been much happier than…whenever the last time had been. It was difficult to pin a calendar here. Finally, at the thought, he snapped out of it.

"Liar," he accused. He heard the note of his own happiness in his voice as he bent over to gather the robes and dress himself. Fully dressed, his robes were considerably more subdued than Sirius' but without the patches and mending he was used to; he wondered what he looked like.

"Very dashing," Sirius assured. Remus wondered how he knew what he was thinking, but Sirius gave no indication that he had. Perhaps standing there as he did in uncertainty had been enough for Sirius to guess. It'd always been enough before.

Now dressed, Remus felt presentable, enough to approach Sirius, go to make sure that he wasn't forcing imagination into truths, eager to proof that he really was there. Remus paused his hand tentatively just over his face, expecting Sirius to melt away into the malformed vapours. But he only waited, watching Remus' face intently. He wasn't smiling anymore, his mouth down turned into a worry; Remus lowered his hand without touching him. Sirius was there, he decided. Why shouldn't he be? He'd promised that he would.

It took a moment for Sirius to respond, the both of them standing before each other and for Remus' part, hardly believing his good fortune. Finally giving way to the characteristic impatience he professed in, Sirius took his own hands and seized him, pulling him close, burrowing his face into his shoulder, hands on his back; Remus answered with a sigh of relief, settling comfortably into the embrace himself, enveloping Sirius, filling inside with an uncountable joy. He shut his eyes so that he could gather every detail he'd agonized over, certain that Sirius wouldn't disappear when he opened them.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said, muffled into his shoulder. Remus moved back, wondering what he meant.

"About before. I was...after I fell through that veil some things happened that shouldn't have. Apparently it's unnatural to take your body into death like that-- I was confused for a while. I kept trying to go back, but then part of me would get left behind so that I was in two places at once and you can't even begin to imagine how peculiar that was. Then there's the whole matter of us no supposed to be going back at all unless you have something proper to anchor too; there are certain ramifications if you try to...I'm sorry. Truly."

"So in short, you were making a nuisance of yourself," Remus teased as acceptance of Sirius apology, still holding on to him comfortably. He was warm, his clothes felt smooth under his hands, his hair was as short as it'd been after James' and Lily's wedding. Was that the time he'd been most happy? Is that how this worked?

"That's not fair," Sirius frowned, drawing Remus' attention again. "I thought I was helping. I was confused."

"Mm hm," Remus hummed, bringing a hand up to Sirius' face so that he could adjust it's angle. Sirius swatted his hand away.

"Don't you care?" Sirius asked, ludicrous and he untangled himself. Atop of looking younger, he seemed to have regressed to his minds younger self as well, the action reminding Remus of how he'd behaved even as far back as Hogwarts. Clearly, he thought that he'd done something much worse than he might have, or perhaps he had done something terrible and Remus simply didn't understand. It didn't seem that whatever he'd done however couldn't have merited much punishment if he was here, Remus thought. Reluctantly, Remus allowed Sirius to separate himself and watched his face closely to see when he had his full attention.

"Yes. But not as much as seeing you again. Properly. That and I hardly feel that it matters here. I won't forget, I promise, but it isn't as important as you're making it out to be. And I assume you're the first person I've seen because you're the only person I've been wanting to see, so that should be sufficient evidence that I'm not here to accuse you and lay guilt."

Sirius didn't move for a moment, perhaps surprised at being so easily forgiven but more likely feeling that it was undeserved.

"That…sounds like you," Sirius conceded, sighing as he set his head on the front of Remus' shoulder again. Remus felt himself smile, felt Sirius' hair as he absently stroked it with his hand. He let it drift down to Sirius' jaw again, attempting again to find the appropriate angle that he knew well enough to never have forgotten, pausing a moment only to survey Sirius' face out a of a marvelled curiosity. He wasn't smiling, which told him that everything hadn't been put right just yet.

"I love you," Remus said plainly. "That's what matters here and what had always mattered there."

* * *

_Six months later._

He'd knew what had happened at the school, it'd be impossible not to, but hadn't heard what'd happened to Remus until the post had been sent back with faded red letterings reading out loud in capital letters, as though mocking his stupidity; _DECEASED._ There was a great deal of things they weren't informed of, living in the isolation that they did, but to have overlooked this seemed a fantastic feat even to McInnis and it hit him with a hard blow.

When the package had come back like that, he tried not to be angry, instead letting it knot up in his throat, let it release in the slow grinding of his teeth and a sharp sting at his eyes. Then, he'd gathered the package, went up to the study in a slow parody of mobility on a leg that'd been getting progressively worse and announced to Abbatia that he was going to London to find Harry Potter. She'd frowned, as she often did when she was gauging his lunacy, rage and reason. Her mouth softened in that attractive way as she saw that reason was winning out and he wasn't going to go and tear the boy apart.

It was getting nigh, the time that he should ask her to marry her, something he thought might have been worth discussing with Remus for a second opinion that he probably wouldn't listen too and just done what he'd imagined that he'd do (which was to potentially botch up the question some how) but would be comforted in hearing.

He'd have gone alone but to search for a wizard without magic would have impeded the search significantly. With duties to attend to at the new house, Abbatia suggested that Hati go with him, sensing that the young man needed perhaps to see the city instead of the lonely seclusion they'd come to live in. Before it was possible to invite Hati however, he'd more of less already packed his things and insisted that he too go. He wanted to know as soon as possible what'd happened, the news of the death drawing out a passion for discovery that'd only been seen in such magnitude when he was working on his skills (vastly improved) in reading and writing.

They hadn't seen Remus since he'd left, the war taking full swing after their messy escape from the Manor; they'd never had a chance to find him (and it would have been unlikely that they would have if they'd tried at that point) and any post that reached him was sent went through several mirrors before ever arriving to him. Atop that, all messages were short and could be filled with little more than small talk.

Arrived in London, McInnis realized that they hadn't the faintest of where to start, and he and Hati had resigned at the end of the day there was nothing to be done except take up lodging at the Leaky Cauldron where hopefully they would come across someone who knew where Potter'd gone off to. For a person of such fame, it felt accurate and frustrating that Potter should be difficult to find. However, McInnis was undaunted, determined to reach the source and deliver his post to the one who it most belonged to now. With no surviving family that he knew of, McInnis thought that it must belong to Potter, a decision based in compulsion that wouldn't be satisfied until he'd seen it out.

It did feel overly assuming to McInnis, that it should be Potter he should be seeking out, but it was the only name he had to work off of. It bothered him that despite feeling that he _knew_ Remus, he in truth knew very little about the man. As they'd made the pack's new home liveable, he'd spoken more freely, giving Potter's name in a fashion that suggested close acquaintance. In fact, it seemed that there was no one he was more proud of, an unfamiliar glow of pride that McInnis hadn't seen since until then light up in Remus' eyes as he spoke of him. They were more than simply fighting for the same cause, that much was clear, and McInnis just hoped that Potter would see them. He'd understand if he were reluctant.

But first it was a matter of finding him.

McInnis hadn't been to Diagon Alley before, the only wizard's territories he'd ever been to was St. Mungo's and the Ministry of Magic for proper registration. As a Muggle there was no reason for him to go to Diagon Alley, even with the discovery of the Wolfsbane potion; he had no magic to make it matter even if he could find and afford all the ingredients on a regular basis. He quickly identified the Leaky Cauldron for what it was though; a prime place of gossip for the casual and a wealth of information once you knew who to ask. It quickly vacated his doubt that they wouldn't find Potter, and a quick word with the naïve young waitress pointed them in the direction of a young man with flaming red hair, and scars not unlike Remus' own. Apparently she'd gone to school with Potter, and was more than eager to expend whatever information she could. The young man apparently was a Weasley (what that meant McInnis wasn't sure) and his younger brother was Potter's best mate and the younger sister, still attending Hogwarts, was his girl.

"Bill?" the waitress called. The young man turned to see who it was, and flashed a brilliant grin, sharp teeth showing a glimpse as he greeted the girl. His smile faded into attentiveness and then a small frown as he glanced across the bar, considering him. Hati had gone out to run several errands that Abbatia had asked him to do, leaving McInnis alone in the bar. He asked the girl a question, fishing for more information without looking away from him. Finally, he nodded, and waved a hand to indicate that he would join him, standing from his chair and taking his plate and manoeuvring across the bar. As he got closer, the scars became prominent, even in the dim lights. McInnis could guess who's work it was, the clawed pattern a signature the monster who made them took great pride in.

But primal instinct suggested to him that the man was not afflicted with the same disease. He was tainted with it, yes, but it was not the onslaught that'd slowly been robbing McInnis for the last twenty years.

"Bill Weasley," the man said, holding out a hand to shake. His wrists were clad with leather bracelets, vicious looking studs over a heavily freckled forearm. His long hair and earrings seemed to suggest that he belonged in a band of some sort, or at least, was a fan of a band of some sort. McInnis took the hand and shook firmly.

"Richard McInnis," he exchanged. Bill nodded and set his plate down, a large steak that hardly seemed to be cooked. Looking at it made McInnis feel peckish.

"You're looking for Harry?" Bill asked outright. He took up his knife and began cutting into the steak with relish.

"I have something to deliver to him."

"What is it? You aren't a crazed fan or something, are you? He's been getting a lot of those lately, and everyone wonders why he moved all the bloody way out there."

McInnis barked a gravelled laugh; if he'd just saved the world from a Dark Lord, he'd have probably gone into hiding himself.

"No, no, I'm not a crazed fan or something. We had a mutual friend and I understand that they were close. See, I sent out a package, seeing as it's safe enough to do so now but it got sent back; deceased stamped across it. Anyways, it's contents aren't of any great value, but it'd mean a lot to me if I could get out to Potter. I think it's best that he had it."

Finished with his explanation McInnis frowned, the insolent red letters flashing across his memories for umpteenth time since he'd seen it. Bill set down his knife and fork, sympathetic.

"I'm sorry; who was your friend?"

"Remus Lupin."

"Ah."

"Did you know him?"

Bill nodded,

"I've known him since I was a rug crawler. I'd been helping him with some research before though. He's a friend of the family's."

McInnis wasn't sure what to say in response; eager to ask questions, but feeling imposing and rude to even think of them. It didn't really matter, the exact details of what'd happened; McInnis was confident enough to believe the Remus had died fighting for his cause and had done so honourably and as the gentleman he'd proved himself to be more than once.

"He'd been fighting alongside his wife, last I saw him that night."

McInnis felt as though that comment should have made him start, but it more stunned him into silence for a moment before he could formulate the word properly and regain full motor function of his face.

_"Wife?"_

Bill frowned, as though something sour had gone into his mouth, the expression moving the scars across his face to make it appear even more pronounced. _Something_ about the union hadn't gone over well with him.

"Believe me, I was about that surprised too. You didn't know?"

"Evidently not. He failed to mention."

"He would."

McInnis tried to think back if Remus had mentioned anything about a woman, but he'd eventually come to assume, though it was none of his business and failed to register at all on his list of concerns and priorities, that Remus had had less conventional interests. McInnis was well convinced of that notion once they'd gotten to the end of things. The only things that'd come to concern McInnis about Remus was that he seemed too guarded in the way that Abbatia was (and remained) guarded. There was also the man's temper, which in the interest of self-preservation McInnis had made note to stay on the good side of. The impression Remus had often given him was something on the verge of bursting. Something sinister, perhaps along the lines of grenades, explosives, or that game of cards that Rose and David found so entertaining, Exploding Stacks or what have you.

"I suppose he also failed to mention that he has a son, as well?" Bill added slowly. McInnis made a hissing sound and waved a hand up towards his face to indicate that no, indeed he hadn't. It seemed unlikely to McInnis that he'd so poorly evaluated Remus, and it seemed that whatever happened after he'd left them, had set him off just as McInnis worried that it might.

"Who was she?" he finally asked, trying to sort out some of his puzzlement.

"Nymphadora Tonks; she worked at the Ministry as an Auror. Merlin, she was nearly the same age me, and she'd had a _crush_ on him for damn near two years but he'd always kept her at a distance. Ever since Sirius died…he hadn't been _different,_ it was just more obvious how much they'd depended on each other."

McInnis, easily guessing who Sirius was, remembering when he'd asked after he'd been trying to warn Remus about Hati. Remus had expertly skirted the question, but it hadn't taken much to put it all together once he'd thought about. Going even further back, he remembered the night they'd been in town down at Henry's pub he could even recall through the haze of drink and fading memory his violent reaction to the mere name of the man. He'd only know the name as the name of a mass murderer and hadn't thought that it could be _that_ Sirius Black, but through gossip he'd heard whispers of innocence; that'd helped his theory, though it'd only just been confirmed to him for certain now. The usual satisfaction of sorting something out wasn't there like it usually was.

"What do you reckon got him together with her?"

Bill shrugged.

"I don't know. It was probably just as simple as the idea of being in that war alone. When Dumbledore was murdered, everyone got a bit unhinged. Dumbledore'd been the one who gotten him get into Hogwart's in the first place and you know how Remus was about learning. He'd helped him throughout the years too. Dumbledore helped everyone of course, but it was something different for Remus I guess, having had so little for so long. But really, I don't know. I'm just guessing. I get the impression that she instigated it all, and I 'spose that he finally took her up on it so that he'd have someone to take care of."

"Sounds like some good guessing to me," McInnis said. Mapped out like that, it made perfect sense. How many times had Remus proven that he was more concerned with the faring of others than he was of himself at the manor? How often had he demonstrated how little he valued himself? He'd done it countless times. It was a part of his personality, a humbleness that weighed against the extreme inverse of the fury he was capable of.

"How did you know him?" Bill asked, nudging at his meal, seeming to have lost the taste for it given the conversation. "You're a Muggle, yeah?"

"And a werewolf. He was watching over our pack for your Order during the war."

"Oh, yeah. I wasn't there after all that, but I heard about what'd happened. It wasn't really how I thought he'd do things and I didn't understand for a while, but it made more sense after Fenrir got at my face. To say that I haven't been treated the same since that incident would be an understatement. I'm not entirely infected, you know, but some people are still terrified of me. I didn't get the benefit of a hushed up injury. But I can see why he didn't want to get more people involved, given that most of the people probably don't trust wizards."

McInnis sighed and confirmed that yes, for the majority the wolves didn't trust the wizard's Ministry.

"Independence too, I don't figure he ever felt that he got that. Given the way things went, and this isn't anything against him by any means, he probably only feels it when he's taking care of everyone else.," McInnis added.

They didn't talk for a while, the easy conversation dying off as each remembered that they were strangers. As Bill cut at his steak without ever eating much, McInnis turning his drink in his palm, thinking over their fallen friend as he presumed that Bill was. McInnis tried to imagine what would have pushed Remus into marrying the girl, wondered if he'd gotten her pregnant first, tried to think of the science behind it given the many unstudied effects of lycanthropy; it must have been an accident.

McInnis tried not to think of his own kids, out there somewhere and wondered if they thought about their old man much, if at all, or only resented him for taking off like that. He'd kept at a distance out of respect, not wanting to turn their lives upside down with revelations of werewolves and wizards and the Ministry he had to answer too and always feared with appropriation. He'd always wanted family, but he couldn't bear to imagine exposing them the things that'd happened to him. It was better that he stayed away, but they were always there in the back of his mind, faces much younger than he knew them to be now.

"What's the package?" Bill asked abruptly after sending his plate with the waitress to packed up so that he could take it with him.

"It's a book," McInnis answered, coming back to the task at hand. "I based a character off him, I thought it'd be appropriate to give him a copy."

"Ah, you're the writer," Bill identified with interest. "He'd mentioned you. Said I should read one of your books. It had a 'nihilistic pathos' quality to them that I might like, I believe was how he described it."

McInnis laughed,

"That sounds like something he'd say, I can hear it."

Bill had dropped by and left Harry with a package he said was from a friend of Remus'. He explained that the man had tried to send it to Remus, not knowing that he'd died at Hogwarts (how that knowledge had not gotten through, Harry did not know) and that it was important that Remus' family should have it. Harry was not sure what to think of that, but felt warm at the thought that Remus had considered him to be family. Sirius had told him that they were family, the three of them, and that Remus was too afraid of assuming too much, even if what he was expected to assume were true. Harry understood though, and kept a place in his mind for who he considered to be his family, and a place for Remus existed. Remus was a man used to being distant, and Harry often thought that perhaps he should have made more of an effort to connect with his father's and mother's friend, but concluded that he didn't need to say or do anything to do that. The feelings, he recognized now, had been mutual.

He peeled off the wrapping carefully, a letter falling out as he slipped it off. It was Muggle post, he realized, and he wondered who it could have been from their world to know Remus. He was not offended of course, but it did have a strangeness too it, since he'd gone out to live in the country, Apparating each day to his training and settling in with appliances of the wizarding world that seemed to accumulate slowly with habitation. He no longer had a reason to interact with the Muggle world regularly, so seeing evidence of it among his home now felt like an unnatural collision.

On the envelope, there were strong, capital letters written in heavy strokes that suggested to Harry a man's writing. He looked at it for a moment, wondering if he should read it. It didn't feel like his to read. He set it down on the table. It didn't feel like his to read; it was his to take care of until the appropriate time that he could give it to Teddy.

Peeling back the last of the wrappings, Harry extracted a book, bound by the Muggle press, looking crisp, clean and new. On the sleeve, there was a photograph of an old book, more like the ones you could buy for real in a wizards shop with their dusty pages and creaked leather folds. _Real Gentlemen,_ was it's title.

He fingered a corner and opened so that he could read the synopsis; it was too vague to really know what it was about, but looking across from it, written in the same blocked lettering, he read;

_Remus,_

_I hope that I've done you justice; the character has shamelessly robbed you and modeled itself after you._

_Enjoy,_

_Richard_

The title fell neatly into place.

* * *

_Fifteen years later._

When Teddy turned fourteen, Harry had given him a book that'd been meant for his father before he died.

At a younger age, this may have interested Teddy, but he didn't think so; why should he care about a man who'd died (however valiantly as it'd often been stressed to him) before Teddy'd ever been old enough to have even a fragment of a memory of him? He didn't mean too be cold like that, and did his best not to share his belligerent commentary to such assumptions when others attempted to instigate conversation about his late parents, but he'd come to reason that was how it was and how it was always going to be. He thanked Harry for the gift and placed it in the bottom of his trunk where it resided for the next three years.

The second time he came across it, he could not remember why he had it. He turned it over in his hands, examined it with mild interest, not recalling having ever bought the book. He wasn't much of a fiction reader, preferring to read things that could be useful and proven. He flipped the cover open and saw his surname on it and then remembered where it'd come from. Father, gift, birthday, Harry; right. This time, it piqued his curiosity enough to turn to the first page. He opened and read the letter that'd been tucked in, finding that it contained little other than updates of what was going on in the authors life at the time. Teddy wondered if he married that woman he'd mentioned.

How the man had signed it disturbed Teddy some, the idea of a personality being taken and shamelessly so. It made him uncomfortable to think that someone could take a person they met and write them into a book. It seemed invasive; would his father have felt the same? He tried to imagine the company that his father had kept. Teddy'd often been told that he was like his mother; wild (which was usually only result of his clumsiness and an inability to always foresee the ramifications of his actions), empathic and determined. Maybe it was because of these obvious similarities to his mother that he didn't hear so often about his father. He could guess that if these things were linked his mother however, that his father must have been something quite the opposite. These musings were nothing he cared to confirm, but they'd been put in his mind and he could not help but think of them from time to time. Usually when he found himself alone, a state he was not in favour of and tried his best to never find himself in. He would be the first to know to recognize when he didn't' want to be alone but the last to admit it out of a bid for independence or at least too look cool for whomever it was he was interested at the time.

Teddy frowned. Ginny hadn't quite forgiven him about what happened with Victorie. Had he realized how much damage it'd do, he wouldn't have bothered in the first place. It was more difficult than usual for them, he supposed, having close relationships with both he and Victorie. There were no friends to divide up in a case like that, everyone more like family even when they weren't. No, instead there was the murmurs of disapproval that he had no interest in defending himself against. He'd begun to find himself alone more often, realizing that he'd somewhat alienated himself from much of the family. It used to be fun, going over to Harry's so often, being around that family and listening to Harry's days at Hogwarts or how his days were as an Auror. He even enjoyed listening to what Harry had to say about his father, sharing what he knew about him. Going by Harry, his father may not have been as stuffy as he'd led people to believe, which was somehow relieving to Teddy.

He returned his attention back to the book in his hands and opened it to the first page. The language appealed to him, but as he was only just sorting out things, he set it on the discarded shelf he'd dredged up from an alleyway to furnish his derelict looking flat. Other more frequented books on history and science filled out the rest of the space, the book getting lost in the shuffle, but at least with the safety of not being tossed in a bin as trash.

After what seemed like a very long payment in patience, Teddy got a job working in archaeology after finishing his training as a cursebreaker, his interest in history (no thanks to Professor Binns, though he took some pride in that the Professor had remembered his name) taken to the fields of excavation and research. It was more dangerous than it sounded, he had to explain to James, who'd made a face of distaste when he'd told them about his employment. Wizards history was difficult to track for several reasons, he explained, because it was often cloaked over with magic to ward wizards and Muggles alike away, and not only that (this next part made all three of the kids excited) many of the sites were rather sophisticatedly booby trapped. He hadn't expected such a reaction to that, and found himself answering questions well into the night until Ginny ushered them into bed. Harry'd been no help with the barrage, continuing the conversation well into the night, but Teddy didn't think that he minded.

For the first time, someone told him that he was more like his father than he would ever know. He didn't answer the comment, but it stuck to his mind as though adhered by the hot summer night. It occurred to him later that he might have asked why, but he didn't really regret that he hadn't. He just thought of the wedding photograph he'd seen of his parents and what an ill match they'd looked like, his mother grinning widely with the mouth he'd inherited and his father looking uncomfortable and often wandering out of the photograph. Apparently they'd more or less eloped. 'Eloped' sounded like too extravagant a word, going by how Harry'd described it. One day, it simply happened to be that they were married. Most people weren't so frank about his mother and father, but from Harry, perhaps because he had no parents of his own, he told things how he knew them to be instead of embellishing them with sweet little details that did nothing for him. Teddy entirely believed himself to be an unplanned child, an idea much fostered by the knowledge that his father had been a werewolf and that the science of such things were still very nearly entirely unexplored. He wondered if that'd had anything to do with the sudden marriage, which would have made it an apology. He was glad to have never had to be a child dealing with an apologetic marriage.

It came to moving from London eventually, a job requirement he eagerly fulfilled, having botched several more relationships and as such drawing the attentions of his Grandmother enough so that she'd begun sending him on blind dates with any girl that came in sight. When it got to being asked if he'd like to go out with a woman she'd pulled out of the personals from the Daily Prophet (he most definitely did not), it'd become clear that it was only going to get worse and that the move couldn't have come at a better time. I love you, but.

He'd gone sorting through his books again, which had accumulated to expand over several shelves that lined the length of the living room wall and he came across the book again.

Teddy still believed that there was little he could do in the ways of caring about someone who'd never been there and as such could never come back, but he'd eased enough to allow himself to be interested. There'd been plenty of family history to be had on is mother's side (he still did not like knowing that he was related to a great many of the pureblood families), and he'd learned it all easily enough, but coming from his father's side there was little. The whole of his father was something of a mystery to him. He decided to read the book finally, curious to see what picture it would paint.

He found that the picture was frank. Like how Harry spoke, the writer wasn't much for the mincing of words, slipping into the manner only on occasion. If the character really had been so shamelessly plundered from his father, Teddy found that it explained much of the things that people would euphemise when it came to the dead. The honesty of it was at times brutally blunt, but always coupled with notions of right and wrong he couldn't disagree with. It was curious to note however that there was never a suggestion of his mother, and little hint of who it might have been to replace that space. Even more curious, it often seemed that it was in reference to a man.

At the end of it, he found that it didn't really have a specific ending but rather left with the expanse of something intentionally unfinished and therefore lingering. It might have only been his reaction to the book however, finding that as he read it that it didn't instigate any feelings of loss but that it did make him question the accuracy of it. Investigative in nature, he thought of contacting the author and questioning him and to ask Harry if he'd read it.

He understood why Harry would say that he was like his father now however, if the portrait had been correct.

It felt like a perverse curiosity, but Teddy wanted to see something and went in search of the photo albums he'd been given over the years of his parents. He found a photo of his father alone, instead of the wedding photo he always remembered. It didn't look like he'd known that it'd been taken, not wandering out of the frame nearly as much as he did in others. It was more as though he was going off on a walk, rather than trying to get away in this one. He was younger too, looking more like the age his mother had been.

Teddy examined it carefully, finding the semblance; as he spotted it he replicated it on his own features without changing what had already come from his father. He took away his mothers mouth and replaced it with his fathers, took his hair from the deep violet he'd favoured lately and replaced it with a warm brown he guessed from the tones of the black and white. There was something about his fathers eyes too that were different from his own, the shape and colour, and he brought the iris's of his own from light blue to brown.

When the reconstruction was complete, he realized how little he'd had to change. Looking in the mirror stunned him; a near perfect replica, a mirror, a doppelganger. He stared, unnerved by the image. He hadn't needed to change the shape of his face, or his nose; physical things. He hadn't expected that he wouldn't need to change his expression. Quickly, he shrugged it off in a violent ripple of colour what he had to so that he could separate himself, feeling bizarrely peculiar at the sight of his father in the mirror in front of him. He felt it in his stomach, twisting unnaturally as though he were about to be sick. He looked back at the photograph, seeing something lonely there and knowing that he didn't need to look like it to feel it.

Even if he couldn't summon forth any feelings of love, the feelings of mutuality he'd gathered from the book made it disturbing enough for him to not alter his appearance that way again. It'd felt too honest, and too much like a heartless theft. He still did not know what he was supposed to feel, but what he visited was the empty feeling, the feeling he wouldn't fill because it couldn't be.

But he'd gotten by just as well despite it, with the love of others, and he did not dwell on it more often than he should. He'd been left in good hands.

* * *

_"Remus."_

_Remus looked up and was blinded by the flash of the bulb and the click of the shutter. He sunk his head onto the rail he'd folded his arms over and sighed._

_"Just because it's a new toy in your arsenal doesn't mean that you have to use during every waking moment of your day. Besides, I thought you'd gotten that for me."_

_"I did and now I'm just giving it a go for myself; want to see the picture I took of you this morning when you were still asleep? You could start a pond on the pillow."_

_Remus sighed again, this time bumping Sirius on the shoulder as he moved closer. The air was thick with the sea, tasting like salt and feeling rough on the face. Sirius' hair had been blown into a tangled mess, now looking as though it were dense enough to become it's own entity. He didn't seem to mind._

_"Are you having a good birthday?" Sirius asked._

_"Couldn't have asked for better weather," Remus commented dryly. It'd begun to rain, quickly soaking through the woollen sweater he'd worn out, making it very heavy. "But yes, thank-you."_

_Remus suspected that Sirius had arranged for them to spend the day alone together leaving which left Sirius alone to plan Remus' day (which Remus would have been content to ignore) without interference from James and without the restrictions from Lily. So far nothing had gone quite as well as he was sure Sirius intended it to; the weather had been dismal, Sirius had insisted that they take the motorbike to 'see the sights of the English shorelines', they had to wait for their room to be cleaned until they could go in when they arrived, lunch had been burned, and Remus had spent most of his day trying to stay warm. But despite these small inconveniences, being out on the shore had made up for it. Even in gale force winds. In it's way, it was beautiful and walking along it with Sirius had been worth it._

_"You don't sound overly enthused," Sirius said (shouted) over the sudden lift in the wind. Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius' waist and kissed him on his temple._

_"I am entirely enthused," he assured._

_"Good. Just wait until tonight."_

_Remus laughed and sunk his head onto Sirius' shoulder._

_"Lecher," Remus accused._

_"And just who do you think it is that I've gotten that habit from?"_

_"Mm, I wonder," Remus muttered absently, twisting Sirius so that he could kiss him. This was not as comfortable as he would have liked, weighed down by the rain, and chilled down to the bone with numb fingers and lips. They'd be lucky if they simply didn't end up with a pair of nasty colds this evening._

_Regardless, he was feeling particularly auspicious.

* * *

  
_

**_"My friend," said Athos gravely, "remember that the dead are the only persons we are not likely to meet upon earth…"_**

**_- The Three Musketeers, by Alexander Dumas  
_**

* * *

**_The end._**


End file.
